The Inheritance
by Lapis Love
Summary: If you were given a second chance at life after facing death what would you do with it? Damon Salvatore asked himself this question and the answer came to him immediately. His body has a new heart, if it isn't rejected just exactly will he do with his extended time? All-human,AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This just came out of me as I tried to work on some of my mother stories, but my muse is being a two-year old right now and doesn't want to sit still and focus. Out of all my stories this one is probably the most predictable you'll see from me, but has some interesting elements. I'll let y'all be the judge. Enjoy!**

***Special note: I'm not sure of the actor who was cast to play Henrik Mikaelson and he was a young guy, but in this story I'm using Ben Barnes, which I know he is used for Book Damon, but hey he's hot so why not. This is also All-Human/AU.**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Columbia University Medical Center—New York**

December 15th 2013 7:08 p.m.

The crooning voice of Nat King Cole added a nice, soothing backdrop to an otherwise poignant display. Rows of doors on both sides of the fluorescent lightened hallway housed room after room of patients barely clinging on to any semblance of human life. The blip of monitors, the whirl of machinery built to keep the heart going, the blood circulating, and the lungs inflated proved to be the only signs of life.

The quiet was library silent—no graveyard silent, with the occasional cough or groan displacing the deafening sound of silence. Anyone specifically not trained to handle the solitude in a place like this would probably go mad in a matter of minutes, and Elena Gilbert-Salvatore was trying to prevent just that.

She twisted the heavy platinum ring around and around on her finger, the weight of it being more than just a symbol of a commitment she made at the largest cathedral church in New York City; it also spelled her continued imprisonment to this never-ending farce. Why'd he have to survive the surgery?

"His blood pressure is stabilizing and the rest of his vitals are normal. He's doing remarkably well post-op. However, with transplants there are several key things we have to monitor and keep a close eye on, so Mr. Salvatore will be with us perhaps longer than he'd like."

_Longer than I'd like, _Elena groused but nodded her head dutifully at the cardio-thoracic surgeon. She sniffled a little to give off the appearance of being a concerned and frail wife worried about her husband's future prognosis.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Alexander. I know you and your team did everything you could to make sure Damon's heart transplant was a success."

"We did our best," the doctor beamed and patted Elena on the shoulder. "You can sit with him. Are you staying overnight?"

"No, I have to get back home and…um…there are something's I need to take care of," she stammered and kept her eyes far away from the surgeon who stared at her strangely.

Nevertheless, he offered up another reassuring smile before vacating the private room, closing the door after him.

Dr. Corbin Alexander had comes across the gamut of patients and their loved ones illustrating a myriad of emotions. From those who commiserated with his patients almost to the point of death, to those so stricken they decided to detach themselves and became aloof and indifferent to the truth. Every once and a then the top-notch surgeon came across a family member that raised a huge red flag, and though he tried to temper that feeling now, the feeling that something wasn't quite right with the Salvatore's, he swept it aside, writing off Elena Gilbert-Salvatore as being in shock.

And it had been a shock considering before he was admitted to the hospital after having a massive heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-eight, Damon Salvatore, according to his personal physician had been the picture of health. Routinely got his flu shot, annually had his physical, never had more than a cold or sinus infection due to sensitivity to pollen during the spring, exercised religiously, and ate a well-balanced diet. Damon admitted to binging on bourbon more than he should, but he didn't smoke, and his family's health history wasn't much cause for concern.

What caused his heart to become so occluded he needed an immediate transplant or he'd die in less than a year's time? Only a thorough examination of Damon's heart post-surgery would answer that question. The better question to ask was: How did his condition go undiscovered for so long?

Elena's rail thin arms fell to her sides and she grimaced. She walked a little closer to the bed. Damon was so pale he looked dead. There was hardly any difference between him and the white sheets he laid on. He mocked her with that little curve to his bottom lip that he foiled yet another one of her plans to get _rid_ of him. She was so angry she could scream! All he had to do was die after his heart attack, and she could make a new life for herself with his life insurance policy. But no. The bastard lived.

However, she thought she had gotten another chance of being free once Damon was diagnosed with a rare congenital heart disorder and needed a transplant. There'd be no way they'd find a donor in the time frame he was given to live. All she had to do was play her part of the long-suffering wife, bide her time. Damon would keel over one day and wouldn't be resuscitated and she could take her millions, her Pomeranian, her Louboutin's, and start her empire in the south of France.

Karma, fate, whomever called the shots was definitely against her as Damon's name was placed at the top of the heart transplant recipient list, and two months later a donor had been found.

Her brown eyes darted to the various machines monitoring every twitch his organs made. If she were to…detach his IV, or blocked his breathing tube? No, she couldn't take the risk. All fingers would immediately point to the spouse when someone died suddenly, and too many people had seen her enter Damon's room and would be able to say she was the last person seen with him.

Elena braced one hand on the railing of his bed, the other on the mattress and leaned forward to the point their faces were mere inches apart. "You miserable bastard," she intoned heatedly. "If you survive this, I plan to make your life hell just like you tried to make mine hell. That's my promise to you, _sweet_heart."

She ended her promise with a hard kiss to his cheek, and ten seconds later, Elena rushed out of the room before she saw the flutter of Damon's eyelashes prior to his lids opening.

* * *

**Lower Manhattan**

December 15th 2013 10:10 pm

The lemon martini sat untouched in front of a pair of shaking mocha toned hands. Happy hour was dwindling down. Those who had to report to their Manhattan offices in the morning began shrugging on wool overcoats, stuffing their fingers into gloves, and wrapping scarves around their necks to ward off the winter air.

Bonnie Bennett or rather the former Missus Henrik Mikaelson didn't feel inclined to follow suit. In fact, she wanted to avoid going home at all costs. Everything was empty despite the fact their home was completely furnished and there were pictures of their lives together on nearly every available surface. She just couldn't be there. See him and not hear his voice. Smell him but not be able to touch him. Her chin quivered because he was gone and fate saw fit to make sure she didn't travel into the afterlife with him.

Today had been the day. The day her late husband's heart was given to someone else. Bonnie had been adamant in wanting to know specific dates of when Henrik's organs would be given away. Even now she pulled out his driver's license and ran her thumb over the little red heart signifying him as an organ donor should he die at any point in life.

A car crash is what took her husband of three years away from her. Bonnie remembered bits and pieces of the accident. The last clear memory she had was texting her assistant Lydia who wanted to verify if she wanted to move a meeting with a prospective art buyer to the following week.

Henrik had asked her a question, a question Bonnie tried every single day since regaining consciousness to remember, but for the life of her she couldn't. She remembered smiling, laughing at something he said. Henrik grabbed her bare knee, gave it a squeeze and the next second the car jerked hard to the right and they went spinning before crashing violently into the guardrail.

Bonnie could faintly recall her head bashing into the window and after that the details were fuzzy and incoherent, but she did remember without censor Henrik's lifeless form bent awkwardly over the steering wheel, blood dripping from the ends of his shoulder length mahogany hair.

When she became lucid in a hospital some hours later, her grandmother was there and her father both looking grave. Henrik's parents were there, her usual stone-faced in-laws, but from Esther's blood shot eyes and red nose, and Mikael's unkempt appearance Bonnie knew something was wrong, fatally wrong.

She had to be sedated and restrained to the bed once the truth came out.

Henrik had died on impact.

Bonnie felt life and blood drain out of her.

His body, after being raided for its organs, had been laid to rest six days after the accident. Bonnie attended the funeral with a concussion, sprained back muscles, high on Percocet, and mounting grief. She closed herself off from family and friends, became a recluse of sorts, and the only thing which gave her comfort were the updates from the transplant facility that let her know where his organs were being shipped off to. She wasn't given a name of the recipient since that would be in dire violation if HIPPA laws, but at least she was given a vague idea of where parts of Henrik were being allocated.

Maybe keeping track of him this way was morbid, but Henrik had been Bonnie's best friend. Sounded like a clichéd thing to say, but he had been her prince charming. He was a goofy intellect, the quieter sibling out of the Mikaelson brood, a perfectionist, but also had a wild streak that sent him base jumping in the Yucatan, and zip-lining through the Amazon. Bonnie often scolded him about riding his motorcycle without his helmet and other protective gear, and he could be found using his electric razor in the shower.

Nevertheless, knowing that he still lived, although in others, added meaning to his passing, and tricked the widowed wife into believing he never really died.

His heart now beating in another man's chest.

"Whoever you are I hope you appreciate it," Bonnie mumbled softly to herself and picked up the neglected martini glass.

The stool to her right scraped across the floor drawing her attention. She nearly swallowed her drink down her windpipe as she came face-to-face with her brother-in-law.

"You're becoming predictable, Bonnie."

The woman in question scoffed and sat her glass down heavily on the bar top almost shattering the delicate glass to pieces. The last thing she wanted was to be confronted with a member of the Mikaelson clan and especially not the Mikaelson whose dark features were so similar to her late husband's. Henrik's body had only warmed the ground for three months, and yet Bonnie began to feel as if she were losing her memories of him.

However, they came rushing back to the surface whenever she found herself staring into the deep brown eyes of Elijah Mikaelson, Henrik's older brother, and the only Mikaelson who went out of his way to routinely check up on her.

Bonnie would never go out on a limb and say she had been accepted and embraced by Henrik's standoffish family. Things had always run cool and formal between Bonnie and her in-laws and she was glad Henrik never insisted they visited his family outside of major holidays and special occasions that couldn't be avoided. Her husband had been close to his younger siblings Klaus and Rebekah, and held a grudging respect for his elder brothers Elijah, Kol, and Finn. But from the vibes between Elijah and Henrik from Bonnie's observations, things were often more cool between them than anything else. Bonnie couldn't deny the Mikaelsons loved each other. They just didn't go out of their way to show it or say it. At least not in the presence of others.

So it became a little shocking that Elijah would be the one to reach out to her. Stopping at the house on his way home after a long day of running the Mikaelson family owned restaurant called Treme in honor of their New Orleans roots. Calling her just to let her know he thought about her, and if she needed to talk he was there to listen.

Nothing about Elijah's behavior and concern would be unusual, but Bonnie could fit all her conversations with Elijah on both hands, her toes excluded before his brother's untimely passing.

Yes, her courtship with Henrik had been brief. They only knew each other for a whooping eight months before he proposed and then they were married in a quiet ceremony with only fifty guests in attendance.

Their wedding had been extremely low-key compared to Rebekah's wedding to real estate tycoon Marcel Gerard. The affair had been so lavish it took up three pages in the society section of the _NY Times._

"What's predictable about me, Elijah?" Bonnie picked up her glass and took a sip fighting the urge to drain the contents in one swallow.

Intense, chocolate eyes never budged from Bonnie's profile. Elijah waved off the bartender who approached and tried to inquire if he wanted something to drink.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Bonnie in a couple of weeks. The restaurant kept him busy and working well into the AM, and his guilt in slacking on the promise he made to his brother shortly after Henrik's wedding to Bonnie, made him leave work early.

Nothing could dull the pain of losing his little brother so suddenly. Elijah wouldn't wish that on an enemy and he had plenty of those. That aside, Bonnie was essentially alone here in New York. Her family being strained as they were with both her grandmother and father traveling across country for their respective professions, and she never really had a relationship with her mother. The few friends Bonnie had made were gone now, not knowing how to handle a grieving widow. Needless to say, Elijah was deeply concerned about her mental well-being. Henrik had been a huge part of her life and now he was gone.

"Drowning your sorrows in martinis…alone. I've noticed a pattern with you. You only frequent this bar when one of my brother's organs has been given to a patient in desperate need of a fresh start medical wise. Do you think this is how Henrik would want you to spend your days and nights?"

"Look," Bonnie said more sharply than intended. "I'm not drunk if that's what you're trying to get at. This is the only drink I'm having. Sorry you don't approve of how I choose to mourn and remember Henrik's life."

And that was the point Elijah tried to make but constantly failed to make clear. Bonnie stopped living the moment Henrik died. Why she couldn't see it frustrated him, and repeatedly Elijah told himself not to push. Things were still early yet, but he didn't want Bonnie to fall into a rabbit hole she wouldn't be able to climb back out of.

He watched his grandmother wither into a shell after his grandfather's passing. Elijah didn't want the same for Bonnie, and she already teetered on that road.

"Well, if you're going to drink you shouldn't do it alone," Elijah unbuttoned his suit jacket and waved the peeved looking bartender back over. "Scotch on the rocks," he ordered.

Bonnie stared at Elijah askance. Technically they were no longer family and she wanted to know why he was going out of his way to stay in touch with her, to keep the lines of communication open when the rest of his family had written off her existence.

"Why are you really here, Elijah? Why do you care what I do with my time?"

"We're family, Bonnie," he answered plainly.

"No, we're not."

Elijah's nostrils flared at the vehemence in her voice.

"Let's be real," Bonnie twisted on the stool to better face her former brother-in-law. "Your family never gave a damn about me, never really liked me. None of you went out of your way to get to know me or make me feel like I truly belonged. You were nice for Henrik's sake and that's all. I practically heard your mother sigh in relief once Henrik's casket was lowered into the ground because that meant she no longer had to play niceties with her son's colored wife."

"Bonnie," Elijah reproached sternly, "my mother might be a lot of things but being racist and prejudice she's not."

Bonnie laughed ungraciously. "Yeah okay," she said flippantly and drained the contents of her glass. She hopped down from the stool. "I'm done. Thanks for checking up on me, Elijah. I'm fine. You don't have to keep tabs on me for whatever reason. Let this…let this be the last time we see each other. All right? Have a nice life."

Collecting her bag, Bonnie headed for the door. She had already paid for her drink, settled her tab. She wouldn't be coming back to this bar ever again. Henrik's heart had been the last of his organs to be donated. That was it. It was done. He was gone but still lived in the bodies of other people. Maybe now she could teach herself to move on.

The noble in Elijah wanted to go after Bonnie and make her understand that just because Henrik was dead didn't mean all ties with his family had to be severed; however, his pride was what made him keep his ass on the stool. He watched Bonnie leave. The sway in her walk was natural and not intentionally provocative, but it was and he quickly affixed his gaze elsewhere.

Bonnie might want to write him and the rest of his family off. That didn't mean Elijah would let her. He made a promise to his brother and come hell, high water, or no water at all he was going to keep his promise.

Once his drink was placed in front of him, Elijah wasted no time taking it back to the head, ice crashing into his teeth and all. He pulled his lips back as the alcohol smoothly burned its way to his belly.

He might have been too busy to be the bigger brother he should have been to Henrik, but he would make up for his shortcomings in another manner.

* * *

**Long Island, NY**

December 16th 2013 1:02 am

"Shouldn't you be at the hospital playing vigil by my brother's side and not going through his safe?"

Startled, Elena snapped up from her bent posture, long hair flying. She slapped a hand over her chest in a poor attempt to ease her frightened heart. "Stefan…what are you doing here?"

"Why don't you answer my question first, Elena? Why aren't you at the hospital waiting for Damon to wake up from his surgery? What's so important in that safe it can't possibly wait?"

"Has anyone told you, you ask a lot of questions? What I'm doing _in my house _is none of your fucking business. And if anyone should be answering any questions about why they aren't in a disease ridden hospital it should be _you_. Last I checked Damon was your brother. Why aren't you there?"

"Hospital policy states only spouses can stay after visiting hours. And since incest is illegal," Stefan finished his thought with a shrug. "Damon just underwent an 8-hour surgery. I think it would be nice if his _wife _would be at his side patiently waiting for him to open up those legendary big, blue eyes of his."

During the time he spoke, Stefan had been steadily inching his way across the office and closer to his sister-in-law he couldn't stand on a good day. Stefan Salvatore never tried to judge a book by its cover, however he knew from the beginning that Elena Gilbert's cover was photoshopped, faked, counterfeit. Something about her never seemed quite right, authentic. She may have worn a beguiling smile on her face, but there had always been some type of calculation in her eyes.

Stefan also couldn't overlook the fact that Elena never wasted an opportunity to ogle him. He never brought it up to Damon knowing how sensitive and on top of that jealous his big brother could get. The man had model good looks but behaved on occasion as if he were Quasimodo sentenced to live in a bell tower for all eternity.

Elena may have window shopped his merchandise, she had been shrewd and careful never to make a purchase. Still, Stefan knew a gold digger when he spotted one and it had been written all over Elena Gilbert's face. The younger Salvatore wouldn't put it past Elena to hope something would go wrong with Damon's surgery. She probably still had her fingers crossed that the heart wouldn't take, his body would reject it, and he'd be dead before New Year's.

"I have things to take care of, Stefan. I do run this household," Elena sniffed. "Now why are you here? Most importantly when are you leaving?"

Smiling a little, Stefan walked around the imposing cherry wood desk and made himself quite at home in Damon's wingback leather chair. "There's been some changes, Elena."

"What?" the polished woman propped a hand on her hip. She had been looking for Damon's living will and testament when she had been rudely interrupted. Now Stefan didn't appear to be leaving any time soon which was holding her up. She needed those documents to give to her lawyer.

"I'm now in charge of Damon's estate, exchequer, and finances until he is physically and mentally ready and capable of looking after his interests himself."

Elena's jaw torpedoed to the floor. "The hell you are! You have no right! I'm his wife!"

Stefan's smile increased—devilishly. It reminded Elena of Damon's snarky smile when he was about to drop a payload on her head. That certainly wasn't a good sign.

Removing a folded document from the pocket of his jeans, Stefan tossed it on the credenza and Elena wasted no time snatching it up. Her eyes flew over the black printed letters. Power of attorney? Damon had granted Stefan power of attorney over…from what she was reading…everything!

She was livid. She couldn't take two dollars out of the ATM without getting Stefan's permission first.

Elena crushed the paper in her hands and glared at Stefan wishing she had the ability to shoot lasers from her eyes. She would have pulverized him into ash.

"Damon can't do this," she seethed between clenched teeth. "I'm his lawfully wedded wife. He has no grounds to make _you _head of his estate."

Something else was slapped on the desktop. A zip drive. "Why don't you take a look at that and get back to me about those grounds," Stefan made air quotation marks, "you speak of, Elena."

"You're going to hear from my lawyer," she promised and slammed the crumpled paper on the desk.

"Can't wait to hear what she's going to say after you view what's on that drive. Oh, and be careful on how much damage you do to those credit cards. You're already pushing your limit on several of them, and you won't be getting new ones. My brother shouldn't support lying bitches, but…for some reason Damon still wants you to look nice."

"You mother-,"

Stefan cut off her tirade by holding up a single finger. "I'm the hand that feeds you now so don't bite it. If you're not going back to the city to be with your husband who is literally fighting for his life, then at least make yourself useful and start packing. You won't be calling this place home for much longer."

Elena smirked. She had to give it to Stefan. When he remembered there was a dick between his legs and took charge of a situation it made him hot. However, he was messing with the one wrong. Saying nothing she left the zip drive right where it was and stormed out of the office.

* * *

**Columbia University Medical Center**

December 17th 1:25 pm

His stitches were itching but he had been advised not to touch them. Whatever drugs they were pumping into his body kept him at the right level of numbness. Damon Salvatore could hardly feel a thing.

He wasn't sure how he expected to feel after waking up from the anesthesia. Maybe he expected to feel as if someone punched a hole through his chest and yanked his diseased heart out, and left a pleasing gaping wound behind. He anticipated feeling hollow as if a large important piece of him was missing, but he could discern little thanks in lieu to the various drugs flooding his system.

Already Damon had been bombarded by every single doctor this place seemed to employ. Everyone asked him the same annoying questions, and he gave the exact same answer. He felt okay. Extremely tired, winded, and like he could throw up his entire digestive system. See, he was perfectly okay. Other than that, he was fine or as close to fine as one could feel.

What shocked him the most, besides hearing the plethora of drugs he'd have to take to make sure his body didn't reject the organ, was a visit from a counselor who specialized in holding group therapy sessions for those who underwent major, transplant surgery. No thanks, Damon thought yet managed to smile as best he could at the little old lady while silently telling her with his eyes to make tracks.

Now that he was alone, sucking up all the free oxygen he could get through his breathing line, his fingers trailed over the scar marring the center of his chest. The area was tender causing him to wince, but Damon tried to recreate the surgery in his head. He had seen dramatizations on TV and in the movies, and had the common sense to know they didn't come close to showing what really happened. He even watched the movie _Awake _with Hayden Christensen and Jessica Alba to get a sense of what he would go through. The movie made him sick to his stomach and a little petrified that the anesthesia would wear off, and he'd feel every incision of the scalpel, every saw of bone as his heart was cut from his body and replaced with a newer, much better model.

Thankfully it didn't happen. He went under being one temper tantrum away from sudden death to waking up with a brand new heart.

Damon still had a difficult time processing the fact he had a congenital heart condition that had done undiagnosed for so long. If anything, he would say the problem had been exasperated by his bitch of a wife.

Why the hell had he married Elena Gilbert?

She wasn't here and he didn't want to think about her. He married her for convenience. He married her because the real woman he watched from afar during his days at Brown University…never knew he was alive. How ironic he came close to dying and beforehand didn't have the courage to reach out and get in contact with the one who slipped through his fingers all those years ago.

Well, with this new start, Damon would rid himself of his pestilent wife, and search under every rock and check every nook and cranny for the girl who stole his heart and refused to give it back.

He would find Bonnie Bennett. And he would use his second chance at life to his full advantage.

TBC

**A/N: And there you have it folks. Let me know what you think. I may continue this, or just add this to my ongoing one-shot series Vigne. I haven't really decided. For now I'm marking this as complete. Thanks for reading! Love you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay so I couldn't resist. A big and deeply appreciative thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, added to your faves, alerted! Y'all spoil me. I'm tentatively continuing this. I don't plan for this to be long. Maybe 10 chapters or less, I'm just going to write until the muse grows wings and goes to pollinate another flower. This chapter features mostly flashbacks. Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Queens, NY **

September 23rd 2013 5:45 a.m.

Fingers tickled the bottom of his chin and he swiped at them to stop their ministrations. They stopped for a few seconds before resuming their play once more. Groaning, he reached for a handful of sheets to pull them completely over his head and rolled away, presenting his back to the nuisance so he could get every single drop of beauty rest he could before the demands of his day harped in his ear.

His wish was denied but another one was soon being fulfilled as a warm body aligned with his, a perfect set of breasts teasingly pushed into his back, as a sinuous leg wrapped around his much hairier ones. The scent of her sweet arousal increased in potency and chased away the last clutches of sleep. Unconsciously he cupped himself through his thin pajama bottoms and massaged his lengthening erection.

Eyelids fluttered and popped open the second butterfly kisses were placed on the back of his neck and the shell of his ear.

"Good morning, love," another kiss was delivered to the corner of his jaw.

"That's supposed to be my line," he flipped over in bed and wrapped his arm around the cinched waist of his better half, the woman of his dreams. Aiming for her lips, he caught them between his. The heat became a supernova and he was hard as a brick.

She wiggled closer to better engulf herself in his warmth, purred in lust at the dizzying feeling of his engorged cock on her belly.

Marble sized verde eyes swam in a fathomless pit of black. She could hardly distinguish his pupil from his cornea. He had serious eyes but a Renaissance inspired face. No sharp lines or angles, strong, aristocratic features that bespoke of his Viking ancestry.

Bonnie's fingers trailed through his shoulder-length chestnut locks, curling a strand around her finger. She leaned in expecting to be kissed within an inch of her life and she was not disappointed.

Their bodies shifted on the California king bed; hers finding its new resting place underneath, his covering hers like a blanket. Mouths ravished one another in an endless procession of tongues rolling and teeth sinking into lips. Feverishly they worked at moving all barriers between them, hands grasping clothing and either pulling them down or up until they both lay naked, flesh to flesh.

Adjusting her hips, crossing her legs behind Henrik's back, Bonnie let out a relieved sigh the moment he sheathed his cock within her, expanding her band of muscles to where she fit him like a glove and vise versa.

"Good morning, love," Henrik smirked and began to slowly grind against his wife's pelvis setting a teasing pace that had her scraping her nails along his back and over his shoulders in impatience.

She was always ready for him. Wet. Dripping. Hot. He didn't know how he got so lucky.

Morning was his least favorite time of day but being with his wife no matter the hour made him thankful for being alive.

Henrik dipped his head to lave his tongue around her nipple. Bonnie hissed compliantly, gripped him by the back of the neck to drive more of her breast into his mouth. Bonnie was extraordinarily sensitive there and Henrik often brought her to completion off a few flicks alone. He increased the speed, intensity, and depth of his thrusts implanting himself all the way to her cervix if possible, and retreating to where only the tip of his mushroom head remained. Little was better than his man meat covered and glazed with his wife's juices.

He opened his eyes to find Bonnie staring up at him moving her hips in tandem just as determined to get hers as well as milk him dry. Her puckered mouth curve upward at the corner and he knew he was in trouble of losing total control. But he didn't mind surrendering.

Silently they communicated having picked up on cues and they switched positions, Bonnie now on her hands and knees. She whipped her hair over her shoulder to bear witness to her husband grabbing his glistening and vein-lined cock at the base and easing his way back inside. Her toes curled, her back arched, and before she knew it, Bonnie slapped her hand on the headboard for purchase.

Her breasts jiggled with the back and forward motion of their hips, and when Henrik aligned himself at another angle hitting her spot, Bonnie was done for.

"Are you coming, baby?" he crooned hotly in her ear and swirled his tongue around her shoulder, his middle and ring finger flicking her clit.

"Y-yes," Bonnie's breath hitched and she could barely talk.

"Then come."

The proof of her end ran down her inner thighs and soaked into the bed; her throat hoarse from her endless screaming.

Moments later Henrik followed suit, holding on to Bonnie's hips tightly, fingers burrowing into her skin sure to leave bruises. He groaned gutturally, almost inhumanly and it was the sexiest fucking sound to Bonnie.

"One of these days _kvinna_, you're going to kill me," Henrik pulled out and landed on his side on the mattress.

Bonnie rolled over to her back completely uninhibited and totally unself-conscious about her nudity. Henrik loved her body and made her feel beautiful like it was his occupation. Never passing up the opportunity to touch her, kiss her, say to her what looking at her did to him.

"Then wouldn't it be a good way to die?" she laughed and tucked herself into the fetal position.

"The best," he kissed her forehead. "My day is ruined. I have to go talk to an auditorium full of Information Systems students and all that's going to be on my mind is my wife's tight…"

Bonnie silenced him with another kiss knowing if he said that word it would start the frenzy all over again, and her toes were still tingling. "Sorry. I'll make up for it later. Now get up or we're both going to be late."

"Just stay," Henrik pulled Bonnie back into bed. "That's why we have the problems we have today. Always rushing off to do something, to stay busy. Let's just linger in bed and pretend we don't have a thousand things we have to get done before five o'clock. It's just us back on Fiji Island. Alone. Will you share that fantasy with me?"

Snuggling deeper into her husband's arms, Bonnie nodded. "Sure…but only for ten minutes."

Henrik laughed and kissed her ardently. "I love you, _min hjärta_."

"I love you, _min soul_."

Neither one of them could have anticipated he'd be dead before the day shifted into night.

* * *

**New Orleans, Louisiana**

September 29th 2013 7:19 p.m.

Like a crying child he waited until her sobs had subsided before he made one single move to get closer to her. She had been sitting on the couch, doubled over, closed fist pressed against her lips in a poor attempt to stifle the sound, but he heard her anyways. Seeing her like this made heat break out over his skin making his shirt and pants stick to him in uncomfortable places. Nothing disturbed him more than witnessing the tears of a woman, a woman with a broken heart, a woman who just laid her husband to rest.

There were many problems Elijah Mikaelson was equipped to handle, but handling his deceased brother's distraught wife was out of his area of expertise. Many came to him because he always had a word of advice to dispense, but now he found himself utterly speechless. His own grief and broken heart aside, he pulled on his strength and entered the study, shutting the door after him.

"Bonnie?" Elijah's tone was dulcet as not to startle her.

She jumped despite his best efforts and looked in his direction. Tears lined her eyes, nearly drowning out their brilliant green color. A green found in nature but the man couldn't find a word or adjective accurate enough that would do their description justice.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Elijah timidly dropped his weight on the cushion next to Bonnie. "I…" he stopped and swallowed the rock that formed in the back of his throat. He didn't know what to say to her and words wouldn't do a bit of good in relieving her pain or bringing his brother back to life. "I…"

"Elijah, please…just go."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

The two of them stared at one another as the weight of his words crushed or rather augmented the awkwardness and strain between them.

"I'm not good company right now," Bonnie informed and wiped her nose with a crumpled Kleenex.

Digging inside his breast pocket, Elijah removed a handkerchief and passed it over to Bonnie who accepted it and tried her best to mop her face and make herself look halfway decent. Of its own volition, Elijah's right hand, the hand closest to Bonnie, lifted as if to touch her back and rub it soothingly—froze in mid-air. He only ever shook her hand in the time they've known one another. They never made anymore physical contact than that.

He didn't think anything would be misconstrued but he decided it was best to err on the side of caution. Elijah placed his hand back on his knee.

"Then that makes you the exact company I should have," Elijah's penetrating brown eyes crinkled around the corners. "Henrik hated funerals, too. He would find every excuse in the book not to have to attend one. He went so far as to use our mother's lipstick to draw smallpox on his body so he wouldn't have to attend our grandfather's funeral."

Bonnie gave out a strangled sort of chuckle. "That sounds like him. He was the same way when it came to doing household chores. Said he was allergic to dust and therefore he had to abstain from cleaning it off the furniture."

Elijah snorted. Being the youngest, Henrik had been indulged more and given far less responsibility than the rest of his siblings. He was no slouch, surprisingly. He was sly like a fox in order to manipulate his way out of doing something he felt was beneath him. A skill he learned from watching Klaus, no doubt, in Elijah's opinion.

Elijah had been eleven years old when Henrik was born. His father had pulled him aside and said that it was his duty to lead by example, and not to slack off under any circumstances because there'd come a point where Henrik would stop looking to emulate his dad and would begin to emulate his brothers. Elijah did the best that he could. Tried to be there for Henrik when he needed him, but he sometimes put his own agenda before anything else, and as a consequence, what bond they shared began to thin until nothing was left outside of brotherly formality.

If Henrik needed relationship advice, he'd go to Finn. Whenever he wanted to learn a new sport or get his ass into trouble he turned to Kol and Klaus. Henrik only came to Elijah when he needed financial support.

So why did he see fit to ask him to watch over Bonnie? Elijah was still trying to figure out Henrik's motives on that one. Maybe it had something to do with his ability to see something out all the way to the end?

"You won't always feel like this, Bonnie. Your heart won't always be broken."

"You say that and I know that, I just don't feel that. But…I'm not the only one who lost him. You lost him, too. He was your brother longer than he was my husband."

"True," Elijah concurred. "That doesn't make my loss any greater than yours."

Bonnie said nothing but a look of understanding clouded her eyes and then she rose from the couch. Elijah felt a little bereft with her putting space between them, but he kept his gaze rapt on her as Bonnie wondered over to the fireplace mantle and picked up a framed photo of Henrik smiling widely for the camera posing with his brothers and sister.

"How old was he when this was taken?"

Elijah soon joined her at the mantle. "Maybe thirteen or fourteen."

"He doesn't look that much different. He only grew taller."

Now that she mentioned it, Bonnie was right. Henrik never really lost his prepubescent face. Perhaps that's why he chose to wear his hair longer than most so he'd look older, or his actual age instead of being confused with a teenager when he was a grown man.

"You should take that with you," Elijah said.

Bonnie stared up at him in confusion. "I can't. Esther would kill me. This is her house."

"_I'm _giving it to you," Elijah stressed. "Whatever belonged to Henrik belongs to you. Trust me, my mother has storage rooms filled with Henrik's childhood belongings. She won't miss this."

"I think she will. Never underestimate a mother's bond with her child. She'll know its missing. And I rather fly under her radar. I know she blames me for the accident."

"That wasn't your fault. You were hit by a car that ran a red light."

"Yeah, and we wouldn't have if Henrik hadn't picked me up from work. I should have been on the subway, Elijah. That had been the plan but…" her chin quivered and a fresh batch of tears began leaking from her eyes. "But he wanted to surprise me because he got off work early and I was so excited and…we were going to go out to dinner. He made reservations at our spot, and…"

"Shush," this time Elijah went with his urge and pulled Bonnie into his arms, resting the butt of his chin on the crown of her head. Citrus and honeysuckle permeated his nostrils as he unavoidably inhaled her scent. His eyes closed on reflex. "It's not your fault," he whispered reassuringly. "Henrik's death is _not _on your hands," he pushed Bonnie away until he held her at arm's length. "Do you hear me?"

Bonnie wiped her tears with the heel of her hand and nodded her head but instinctively Elijah knew she didn't believe him. Nor did she believe she wasn't the cause of her husband's death. Survivor's guilt, Elijah was no stranger to that.

He cupped her cheeks and brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumbs. The muscles in her brow contorted and relaxed. Elijah ignored his pounding heart. Ignored the bells and whistles going off in his head that he needed to remove his hands _right now_.

Thankfully the moment was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Immediately Elijah dropped his hold on Bonnie, and took a step away from her at the same time Rebekah entered the study.

"The food is ready if you're feeling up to eating."

"We'll be there in a minute, Rebekah," Elijah said and spared Bonnie another look. "It's not your fault," was the last thing he said to her that night.

When Bonnie made it back to her empty home in Queens, the first thing she unpacked was Henrik's picture, the one Elijah had been adamant she have. Entering her closet, a feeling of nostalgia came over her and she went digging through boxes stacked on the shelves.

One box fell to the ground, the contents going in every which direction. Sighing in aggravation, Bonnie fell down to her haunches and began gathering the items, tossing them back in the box.

She picked up a tassel from Brown University and frowned. The year was wrong. She graduated in 2007. The one in her hand read 2006 but for the life of her Bonnie couldn't remember why she had it. Disregarding it, she placed the tassel back in the box and continued her hunt for an old photo album.

* * *

**New York, New York**

September 30th 2013 9:55 p.m.

The sound of ice cubes knocking into the sides of a crystal glass was almost hypnotic to Damon Salvatore. The buzz of the crowd in the bar provided a shroud he needed because lately he had been feeling more off than usual, and as if a pair of beady brown eyes were following his every move. Paranoia, he wasn't a fan of but he had no other way to remove that particular boulder off his shoulders.

The constriction in his chest intensified for one breath stealing moment, and suddenly Damon couldn't move. Acid churned, he felt it rising like magma in a volcano. He snapped his eyes closed, counted slowly to ten in his head before releasing a ragged breath that only added to his light-headedness. A light sheen of sweat pebbled across his hairline and coated his upper lip and pooled in the center of his chest, back, and under his arms. His vision swam. Even his ears felt hot.

The pain was getting worse. He needed a heart before his present one gave out on him.

Seeing his brother making his way through the crowd with two drinks in his hand, Damon tried to stand to his full height, but gave up the pretense and rested his elbows on the table top. The sophisticated ambience that he once found soothing now seemed to magnify the pain lynching his body.

Stefan sat their drinks at the table and took one look at his brother. "You're not feeling well."

"I'm fine," Damon unintentionally snapped and went for his drink, but Stefan anticipated his move and got to it first. "Fork that over before you lose an eye."

"I don't know why I allowed you to talk me into allowing _you _to go out tonight. Your ass should be in bed. Not at a club and certainly not drinking."

"I already had one mother, Stefan. I don't need another."

"What you need is common sense and I have plenty of that for the both of us," Stefan sipped his drink and made sure to keep the other one way out of Damon's reach. "I'm willing to lease you some if you agree to dump your gold digging bitch of a wife."

Damon's smile was more grimace than smile, "I already have something in the works. I want a clean break, but I know Elena would rather see me dead than go through a messy divorce where she knows she won't walk away with half. Which is exactly what she thinks she's entitled to."

Stefan faux pouted. "You're going to sink her battleship."

"Like a motherfucker."

"I'll bring a life jacket and popcorn. In all seriousness I need to get you home. Come on, you invalid."

Though Stefan hated to make light of his brother's condition, he knew better than anyone that using sentiment against Damon earned you a first class ticket to his fist. He didn't like being babied despite acting like one when the mood struck.

When the full extent of Damon's heart disease had been revealed, Stefan experienced sympathy pain in his chest cavity which probably didn't even come close to what his brother probably went through daily. The two had been close since their boyhood days either getting each other into trouble or taking the fall so the other could be spared the rod. They had their ups and downs, often butting heads but mostly when it came to their family's company. Damon was a shareholder only, while Stefan acted as CEO of Sal-Innovation Consolidated, an investment firm with branch offices in five US cities and two international offices in London and Madrid.

Half carrying, half dragging Damon out of the establishment, Stefan shouldered their way through the crowd drawing speculative stares. Damon was lucid enough to keep his legs moving in spite of the urge to close his eyes and rest, perhaps for eternity. The pain in his chest hadn't budged and began to spread to encompass the immediate area. It hurt to breathe, to think.

The brothers made it two steps out of the club before Damon collapsed.

"Damon!" Stefan's knees took the brunt of his fall and he rolled his brother on his back, checked his airway and his pulse and noticed it was very weak. "Someone call 9-1-1!" he shouted at the spectators who began to diverge and circle them like vultures spotting road kill.

"Don't you fuckin' die on me!" Stefan ordered and reached in his pocket to pull out his cell phone to call an ambulance despite someone telling him one was on the way. "Just hold on. Help is coming. Whatever you do keep your heart beating, Damon. Just don't give up."

And Stefan made a vow never to give up on finding his brother a new heart. Even if he had to buy one off the black market he would make sure his brother lived.

* * *

**Hoboken, New Jersey**

October 1st 2013 3:26 p.m.

Elena hated coming here. Hated the fact her Manolo Blahnik's had to touch the greasy and dirty floor of her birth mom's row house. She didn't know how Isobel Flemming could live in such squalor and Elena was glad the lying hag had given her up for adoption and she had an okay life growing up in a rural area of Virginia with middle class parents. If Isobel had tried to raise her Elena imagined she would have gotten knocked up at fifteen, had her first child at sixteen, and would have been working on her second or third by eighteen.

The house was a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere, dishes piled in the sink emitting a rank odor. Even the house cat which was probably a stray Isobel picked up somewhere watched where it stepped since the threadbare carpet was littered with stains; and oh my God! Elena cringed there was a family of roaches congregated in a corner obviously watching one of its own giving birth.

Her gag reflex was working over time, but she refused to move from her spot next to the front door, nowhere near brave enough to take another step deep into this depressing as fuck outhouse.

She had been summoned by her mother who threatened to make a trip to her neck of the woods in Long Island. Elena knew what Isobel wanted and it wasn't to chat and catch up and gab like old girlfriends. No, she wanted money and she expected Elena to hand over her Benjamin Franklin's obediently.

Isobel came out of the back part of the house dressed in her "best" a pair of polyester trousers and a bedazzled top that hurt Elena's eyes. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her makeup was actually pretty good. Elena had to admit her mom reminded her of Priscilla Presley, she just didn't understand why she failed to use her beauty to her advantage to do better with her life.

"You going to stand over there like a British soldier and have a seat? Oh, right. My house isn't good enough for her highness."

"You called me here, Isobel to ask for money. So just go ahead and ask so I can say no and get back to healthier conditions," Elena grimaced.

Isobel smiled and reached for the remote to turn off the 52" inch high definition television. A gift or bribe depending on who was asking, from her daughter.

"For once I'm not interested in what lines your pockets, Elena."

"That's a surprise. So what do you want? You've made it clear you have no interest in us really getting to know each other."

"I just wanted to know how my son-in-law is doing."

"He's fine," Elena replied curtly.

That was actually pretty far from the truth. Damon had been admitted to Lenox Hill Hospital and was currently undergoing tests. She had every intention of going there to show her face and pretend she was interested in all the doctor's were doing to stabilize her husband.

"Is he now?" Isobel said sarcastically and crossed one leg over the other. "Funny because one of my friends, a nurse at Lenox Hill said he's been admitted. My friend also told me that Damon doesn't look so good and may even need a transplant to survive."

"Your _point, _Isobel?"

"My point is…if things turn bad for Damon and the unfortunate happens, you my, sweet girl will be coming into a lot of money, which means you're going to need help managing it."

"You mean spending it," she scoffed. "I have a financial planner, thank you."

Isobel smirked. "At any time things can change, Elena. If Damon were to ever find out about _that night_, I think he would be quick to start divorce proceedings."

Hearing that made the warm blood in Elena's body turn cold. She crossed the room in three strides and barely managed to repress the temptation to slap her mother's head from east to west.

"I don't know what you're talking about and if you even try to _hint _at something I will make you disappear. I know you're hiding from the feds, Isobel." The smugness vanished from her birth mother's face and Elena resumed control. "Insider trading…how many years is that behind bars when you're not Martha Stewart? I've let you use me like a piggy bank but not anymore. You say _anything _to Damon and I'll make sure the feds know _exactly_ where to look. There's only one way to fall completely off the map, _mom_. Remember that."

Pivoting like the runway model she used to be, Elena strutted to the door, touched the handle resisting the urge to scowl, and left.

* * *

**Lenox Hill Hospital—Intensive Care Unit**

October 2, 2013 7:00 p.m.

This wasn't what he would classify as sleeping. Memories from his past kept infiltrating his dreams and events were being morphed and distorted in his mind. However, one memory kept rising to the surface and instead of fighting it Damon allowed it to play itself out. Start to finish. He never wanted anything to alter it.

* * *

**Providence, Rhode Island**

March 15th 2006

His roommates, the drunk asses Mason and Enzo dragged a reluctant Damon to the last basketball game of the season. No one paid much attention to Ivy League basketball teams because they pretty much sucked, in Damon's humble opinion, and he wasn't that great of an athletic enthusiast to begin with. He played lacrosse, rugby, and football from time to time and that was only if he had the time, and wasn't trying to recuperate from a hangover or trying to get the feeling back into his depleted ball sack. But since his other alternative was studying for his finals, Damon decided to be a team player and tag along.

Mason and Enzo raided the confession stand while Damon opted to get a beer and a small bag of popcorn. The trio found some seats after roughhousing along the way, sitting behind a group of girls who were too busy gossiping with each other than paying any kind of attention to the game.

Within minutes Damon's beer was gone and his bag of popcorn was empty. He was bored and wanted to go home and maybe waste even more time with his PS2. And just as he was about to let his comrades know he was bowing out, he caught sight of someone in his peripheral, someone falling, pushing him to act purely on instinct.

Her yelp was cut short, and her well-rounded derriere never made contact with the unforgiving concrete step just waiting to do hardcore damage to her spinal cord. Damon didn't even know he could move that fast, but he had and held a tiny girl under her arms, her upper back pressing into his waist.

Those who were sitting around had held their own breath since they saw the inevitable, a poor girl dressed in attire more befitting the club scene rather than a college basketball game, hitting every single step on her way down to the bottom.

"Ohmygod," the girl breathed and Damon heard the panic in her voice.

He righted her, pushing her gently to stand on her feet. She turned around to face him. It took a moment for Damon to say something because his ability to speak somehow malfunctioned.

All of a sudden he heard Leonardo DiCaprio in his head saying: _For I have never seen true beauty until this night_, and Damon wanted to roll his eyes at his own foolishness. He had bedded some of the prettiest girls Brown and surrounding universities had to offer, but this girl right here before him robbed him of breath, speech, and if he carried around cash and not plastic, he would have given her every single red cent he owned.

"Thank you for saving my ass," she laughed in a self-deprecating manner, but Damon could see her hands trembling.

"Y-your welcome," his voice went up an embarrassing octave and he cleared his throat. "You okay?"

"I am."

He didn't get to say much else before she was swarmed by her friends and some burly dude who nearly knocked Damon down the steps in order to reach her.

It would be his luck that the woman he saw in his head for one wild moment breast feeding his kids would be taken.

Damon never believed in love at first sight. He believed in lust at first sight, and that's what he tried to do with a dogged passion was write off his encounter with the clumsy, gorgeous girl as lust and nothing more.

Unfortunately like a dog with a bone, Damon couldn't stop seeking her out.

He did his best to scan the campus trying to find her in the hopes of striking up a conversation. Periodically he would catch a sighting of her entering a building, or walking with friends, but it had always been from a distance. He did manage to get her name from one of her friends and found it fitting. Bonnie Bennett, the one who bewitched him.

One of the things Damon disliked and tried to modify about himself was his restless nature. At some point he got distracted with a foreign exchange student, and forgot all about Bonnie Bennett, but the next time their paths crossed was a week before his graduation and he had to settle his account.

All this time Damon had no idea she worked in the Registrar's Office as part of the work-study program. He could have easily found some excuse to frequent the student union building, but he avoided that place like a man on the run from the law, and he could kick himself for it.

Damon remembered all his game and bravado bleeding out of him as he walked up to her counter. He just recalled staring at her like an idiot unable to say his name without stuttering.

"It's you," she beamed. "The guy who saved me from embarrassing myself at the game. You're graduating? That's awesome," she said all of that in one breath. "What's your name?"

"Ah…um…Damon…Damon Salvatore?" mentally he slapped himself in the head.

Bonnie stared at him trying to fight the smile that wanted to cross her face. "You sure?"

Feeling like an even bigger idiot, Damon simply nodded his head and handed over his student ID.

Bonnie briskly opened his account and told him he had several parking tickets he needed to pay before she could close out his account, and he also had three overdue library books.

"Until those dues are paid…you won't be able to walk," Bonnie told him sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

At that point Damon could care less because if it meant he got to come back and see her again, he'd stay in school for another year.

"Oh," was all he managed to say and was going to give himself a _thorough _talking to once he left. He was seriously not this lame. "Well, I'll go and take care of this and come back to see you. You'll be here, right?"

Bonnie nodded. "Yep. I'm here Monday through Thursday from three to five. Though I'm only supposed to say this to those with clear accounts, I'll make an exception for you," she winked. "Congratulations, Damon, I wish you success in your future endeavors. That sounds so corny. Next!"

He hadn't anticipated being disregarded so abruptly and had no choice but to bust a move. Damon told his feet to march forward, pay his parking tickets and for the library books because he had no idea where those shits were, and to make it back to the Registrar's Office before Bonnie's shift ended.

Nevertheless, he lamented over the fact he didn't even get to break out the big guns, his smoldering eyes. This had never happened to him before.

Naturally after hustling from one end of campus to the other shelling over a buttload of money, Damon made it back to the Registrar's Office only to discover Bonnie had left early.

Pouting, he concluded his final business and then that following Saturday walked across the stage as an educated man.

Fate had been kind to him as he ran into Bonnie at the conclusion of the ceremony. He noticed she was with the same guy who bumrushed him at the game. There were tears in her eyes, but he wasn't sure if they were tears of joy or sadness. He waited until the appropriate moment to go up to speak.

"Remember me, clumsy girl?" he grinned as he snuck up behind her.

Bonnie frowned but then smiled. "Never going to let me live that down are you?"

"Nope."

"Congratulations again."

"Thank you. So when do you graduate?"

"Next year," she beamed proudly. "Does it feel weird? Not being in college anymore?"

Damon shrugged. "Not really. Instead of getting up to go to class I now have to get up and go to work."

"Ah, and speaking of work what will you be doing? If you don't mind me asking."

She could ask whatever she liked so long as she didn't stop speaking to him, Damon mused. Her voice was melodious, not like bells, but like a blues or jazz singer about to warm up before belting out a haunting tune. Was there anything about her he didn't like?

"For now I plan to work at my family's company."

"Of course your family owns a company," Bonnie rolled her eyes playfully. "That's cool."

"Delivering inter-office mail does have its perks," he joked eliciting a laugh from the petite girl.

"Hey, Bonnie we're leaving!"

Damon kept his eyes on her as she turned to address the person who called out to her. The sundress she wore was modest in design, but couldn't hide her curves that well, and he was more than happy about that.

"All right," she turned to face him once more. "So I guess this is goodbye, Damon Salvatore. See, I didn't forget your name."

"I don't recall you giving me yours," he played along as if he were ignorant of that fact.

She stretched out her hand. "Bonnie Bennett."

Damon knew a little Italian and opted to show off what he knew. "_Il piacere di fare la vostra conoscenza è che tutto mio, Bonnie Bennett_," he kissed her knuckles and saw the caramel hue of her cheeks darken.

"_Ti assicuro che il piacere è che tutto mio per rendere il vostro_," Bonnie replied shocking Damon once again.

"You speak Italian?"

"A little. I spent some time there last summer."

It was official to Damon. He had met his match.

"Look, I know we don't know each other well…_at all_, but my friends and I are throwing a party tonight. Would you like to come?"

An apologetic look sprang into her eyes and Damon prepared himself for rejection even if he felt a barbed battering ram was about to go through him.

"I would but I'm on a plane tonight catching a red eye. I'm sorry. I would come if I could, you know."

"No, it's cool."

"Who knows," Bonnie tried for optimism. "Maybe we'll see each other again."

"I'm holding you to that," Damon pointed his finger at her.

"Bonnie!" her friends yelled once more.

"I'm coming!" she shouted back. "Well congratulations again," and surprising the both of them, Bonnie leaned forward and gave Damon an awkward hug. "See you around."

She may have walked ten feet away when Damon called her name. "Bonnie!"

She halted, turned, and waited.

Clearing the distance between them, Damon sauntered up to her and removed the tassel from his cap, picked up Bonnie's hand, and placed it in the palm of it. "Keep that because I plan to get it back from you one day."

Bonnie closed her fingers around it. "I'd like to see you try."

TBC

**A/N: So, Damon has something that's deeply important to Bonnie and she has something of his. Isobel has dirt on Elena, and Elena has dirt on Isobel. The dots will be connected. If you want more, you knows what to do. Thank you, dolls for reading! **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello kittens. Back with another update for those who are still hooked to this story. Thank you so much for the reviews, faves, and for reading! Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Upper East Side**

February 9th 2014 11:18 a.m.

The day was cloudy and the sky looked moody which was fitting for Elena's frayed nerves. Nothing seemed to want to go right. Whenever she took a step forward, Damon and his mob of lawyers took a hundred steps forward leaving her in the dust. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right he was trying to stiff her like this. _Her! _The woman he proclaimed was his life. The woman he promised before God and half of New York City to love and cherish forever. Whatever happened to that man? Why had he been replaced with a stingy asshole?

Okay, so what she hadn't always taken his feelings about something into consideration. Elena had a tendency to live life according to her own drummer and instead of people complaining about her self-centeredness they refused to get with the program. She never held herself to some high standard those around her put on her shoulders. Elena was a creature of impulsivity and doing what made her happy, what made her feel good to the detriment of others' time and finances. And no, she may not have always shown her appreciation for the perks, the gifts, the fame, the good life she had been given, the fact of the matter was, she did appreciate it. That's why she was trying to fight for hers right now.

Now she was literally being stripped of everything. Damon expected her to waltz out of their five-year marriage with the clothes in her closet _and _the money currently dwindling in her bank account. Hell no! She had to put up with his notorious mood swings. Had to deal with him working late, ignoring her after claiming to be too tired to do anything. Had to go with him to endless doctor and hospital visits when he knew how much she detested hospitals. She had to smile in the face of his phony friends and pretend to be one of the guys. Elena walked away from her modeling career thinking they would soon start a family just for the bastard to up and have a heart attack on her, and after all that he wanted her to leave empty-handed?

Damon Salvatore was out of his fucking mind if he thought that shit was going to fly.

Elena marched back and forth across her litigator's office gnawing her thumbnail, mind working a hundred miles an hour trying to think of some way to slow down the divorce proceedings so she could try to find equal amount of dirt on her soon-to-be-ex-husband to sling in his face.

Caroline Forbes sat prim and proper behind her desk watching her client pace like a lion. It was deathly quiet in the Upper East Side office. The blond litigator sighed and picked up her Mont Blanc pen ready to end this meeting because she had other clients to see.

"This just isn't fair," Elena whined and stopped her pacing. She faced her lawyer whose large blue eyes stared at her unfazed or moved by her declaration. Hardly anything was fair where the law was concerned.

"The fact of the matter is," Caroline began, "you got caught. The proof is _damning_ and certainly doesn't help your case, Elena. Settle."

"No! He promised me that I would get half if we ever broke up," Elena knew that was a bold faced lie. "I know he's worth $100 Million dollars but he wants me to believe otherwise."

Caroline shook her head. Damon's joint businesses might be worth that much. As far as his personal wealth went, might be more or less.

Regardless, on Caroline's desk was a copy of Damon and Elena's prenuptial agreement. A binding contract that couldn't be altered, overridden and certainly didn't leave much room for a loophole to be created. Damon's lawyers had been thorough when writing up this contract. There was no getting around specifics or omitting certain facts. Elena was screwed and she needed to go ahead and accept it.

"You and I both know that's not the truth. He's offering you $2.5 million. And after what I witnessed on that zip drive he's being more than generous."

"That wasn't me!" Elena screeched yet another lie. If she kept perjuring herself lightning was bound to strike her dead.

Caroline smiled tightly at her act.

"All right," Elena dropped her weight in the chair perched across from Caroline's desk. "If I can't get half…then I simply won't leave. You know what they say 'It's cheaper to keep her'. I'll refuse to sign the papers, refuse to take a measly two and a half million dollars, and just stay married to his ass," she sat back proud of her ingenuity which elicited snickers from her lawyer. Elena's face fell flat.

"Damon can sue you for that. He has grounds."

"Enough with the grounds!" Elena exploded remembering Stefan had said the exact same thing to her when he caught her snooping. "Damon can bring it. I'm not afraid of him or his stupid can't-get-laid-unless-they-flash-their Amex card lawyers."

"You do realize that trying to fight him would be like a paper plane going up against a 747, you being the paper plane. I'm not taking on that case. Besides, your check for my retainer fee bounced and I don't do pro bono work. _Settle."_

Inside her head Elena cursed. How could she be so sloppy and allow one drunken bachelorette party bring her down like this? Accepting scraps, mere scraps compared to the millions Damon wiped his butt with was unacceptable in the brunette's eyes.

With all these events coming at her at once, Elena burned with desperation to find out why no one was willing to take up the mantle for her? She had been a naïve, big-eyed girl moving from the rural south and got taken in, awed, and duped by the shiny Big Apple. Damon had been an integral part of her reeducation and Elena wouldn't say she had fallen for him on sight. It had been a gradual thing.

Back when she listened to her conscious she didn't want to be looked upon as receiving preferential treatment simply because the boss had been interested in her. But there was only so many times she could say no to fancy dinners, trips around the world in private planes before she began to question why the hell she shouldn't go for it. If anyone else had been in her shoes they wouldn't have wasted the time.

So Elena bit into the life of the rich and famous poisoned apple and never looked back. She was essentially being punished for taking a swindler up on his offer and it wasn't right.

"I'm not settling. Not yet at least," Elena vowed. "Damon can use that stupid sex tape against me. I know one of his secrets too and unlike him I was willing to keep quiet about it, but now he's forced my hand."

Caroline sat up straighter and leaned to the edge of her seat, her interest renewed and piqued. "Cared to fill in your lawyer on what you know?"

"In due time," the brunette smirked, and did her best not to worry.

* * *

**Manhattan, NY**

February 21st 2014 6:49 p.m.

_Just walk through the door, Bonnie. That's all you have to do. Grip the handle, pull it toward you, and walk in. Pretend as if you have no idea what's going on. Smile at the host or hostess, give the person your name, and wait for him or her to take you upstairs to the private dining room where you know your friends from work and your former in-laws are waiting to wish you a happy twenty-eighth birthday. All you have to do is grin and bear it for two hours, go home, and cry your eyes out. _

Those were the words Bonnie's inner consciousness directed at her as she stood like a statue in front of Treme, the restaurant owned by the Mikaelson's but operated by Elijah.

Elijah had been the one to set this ball in motion yet Bonnie had the sneaky suspicion he had help. Her friend Lacey Porter had bounced into her office early this morning, extra chipper and "causally" asked Bonnie if she had any plans to celebrate her birthday.

Yes, she had plans. To buy a fresh batch of flowers, pick up some takeout, go home and flip through photo albums chronicling her life with Henrik since she couldn't exactly take a trip to his gravesite being it was in New Orleans.

Yet Bonnie edited her response so she wouldn't come off as a sad little loser because she wanted to spend her birthday alone rather than convene at a restaurant or club, eat until her belly exploded or drink until her liver gave out.

"No major plans," Bonnie replied to the inquiry doing her level best to evoke some emotion in her tone other than despondency.

"Well, why don't we go out to dinner? Just the two of us? Keep things quiet and low key. No one should have to spend their birthday alone."

Inwardly, Bonnie groaned yet presented her best smile. "Sure, sounds like a plan."

"Great," Lacey clapped her hands together. "I'll set everything up. Be ready to head out at six."

"All right," Bonnie deadpanned.

Alone, Bonnie went back to flipping through the newspaper, merely skimming over the articles until she came across one that piqued her interest.

According to The Associated Press, Columbia University Medical Center just completed yet another successful heart transplant using a less evasive surgery to cut down on recovery time. The patient, whose name was not listed, was reported as showing exceptional signs of improvement within days of surgery, and didn't seem to show any signs of heart allograft rejection though it was still too early to tell if the body would take to its new heart or not.

Idly, Bonnie wondered if that heart might have been Henrik's, but she doubted it. Despite the sadness that wanted to overcome her, Bonnie was happy for the transplant patient and hoped he or she wouldn't throw away their second chance at living a life with no regrets.

And speaking of no regrets, something else had been weighing on Bonnie's conscience.

With so few people to turn to, Bonnie knew it had been foolish and also a bit selfish to kick Elijah out of her life when he was just trying to be there for her. The minute she made it home after having her 'celebratory' drink, their conversation played on an endless loop that kept her up for far longer than she liked. He wanted to be there for her and she could use what support she could find because she learned, people liked to keep the company of other happy people, and she hadn't been happy for a while.

It was officially time to change. The change beginning with her birthday.

Sucking in a breath, Bonnie entered the restaurant. She recognized the hostess from the handful of times she and Henrik came to eat a free meal. Davina, Bonnie recalled her name, offered her a smile that was far too bright. She was in on it, too. Lacey had conveniently ditched Bonnie half an hour before they were set to head out saying she had to help a friend with something and would meet her at the restaurant.

"Hi, welcome to Treme. Party of one?"

"No, I'm meeting a friend here. Lacey Porter."

Davina pretended to look through the reservation book. "Right. She's already here. I'll show you to your table."

Bonnie followed behind the hostess who wasn't much bigger than herself. The crowd was minimal. Most people were just now leaving work and were slowly making their way to downtown restaurants or fighting traffic to get home.

Davina led Bonnie through the cluster of tables and up a tight staircase to the upstairs portion of the establishment. Pictures of Louisiana's artists graced the brick walls, and Bonnie admired them as they passed.

Just as they reached the landing, streamers hanging from balloons caught Bonnie's eye and she willfully ignored the mob of people congregated in the area waiting for the right time to yell:

"_SURPRISE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" _

Pretending to be shocked would have taken too much energy, so she didn't even bother. Bonnie smiled and moved like a puppet on strings over to the first face she recognized and hugged that person tight. She was glad her dad could make it.

:::::

The noise from up above drew the attention of almost everyone in the restaurant. People stopped talking in mid-sentences, the bartenders paused in pouring drinks, even the background ambience music seemed to miss a beat. Lorenzo "Enzo" Riodan halted in taking a swig of his Australian made lager, twisted on the bar stool and looked toward the source of the disturbance.

He was elbowed in the ribs by his drinking companion Mason Lockwood who hitched his chin in the direction of the retreating hostess. Enzo shrugged his shoulder and helped himself to a mouthful of beer and lowered the bottle back to the napkin. The two of them, since they were in college had established their own language where they didn't have to actually use words to convey their point.

"She looks a little young, mate," Enzo cautioned the sports analyst.

"She's gotta be at least eighteen to work here. Plus you know I have a weakness for brunettes."

Enzo nodded, taking into account that was very true. He on the other hand considered himself an equal opportunity bloke. Many things attracted him to a woman. It didn't matter to him what color her hair was, or skin for that matter. If the vibes between him and a woman who drew his fancy were good, Enzo took the time necessary to get to know her.

Like the petite mocha beauty currently hurrying to the restroom. He had seen her enter the restaurant behind the hostess appearing more as if she were being led to a firing squad rather than her own birthday party.

"When is Damon going to show his ass?" Mason asked with a note of impatience twinging his words.

"He'll get here when he gets here. What do you have to do that's so damn important, anyways? I know you don't have a date, and we haven't seen Damon in months. Do as you Americans say and chill."

"Don't make me call immigration. You know you have warrants," Mason jibed while Enzo placed his index finger on his puckered lips. "I'm just…a little on edge 'cause this is our first time seeing him…since the surgery. Stefan says he's doing all right but he could have been saying that just to say it."

"Ah," Enzo clapped his friend on the back, "you're worried Damon's lost his good looks."

"Piss off as you Brits like to say. Damon can afford to hit a few branches on the ugly tree and he'd still get panties and bras thrown at him. What he went through I can't even imagine going through something like that and he's not even thirty years old."

Enzo nodded in sympathy. It had taken him by surprise when he got a phone call from Mason who had been contacted by Stefan saying Damon had suffered a massive heart attack after leaving the gym. The damage had been so bad caused by an untreated disorder that Damon needed a new heart in order to make it to twenty-nine. Enzo had been struck speechless, and did his best to hop the pond from England to the US to see his friend. But time and work constraints made it impossible until now.

Damon went through his heart transplant surgery with flying colors, and was warned to take it easy, and not jump back into life as he knew it. But the wanker had grown tired of his ho-hum existence. Fighting with soon-to-be ex-wives over money would suck the life out of anyone, Enzo mused. Mason who was always down to get shitfaced hadn't help Enzo in his argument that they should just meet up at Damon's new condo, stay in, and watch whatever sports game was on the tube.

Just as he readied himself to respond, the lady from earlier sidled up to the bar. Enzo rotated a bit on his stool and noticed she looked even more stunning up close. Toffee complexioned, with an aristocratic nose, puckered kissable lips, thick raven hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders, combined with a body to die for…he may have just found Mrs. Riodan.

"Pardon the interruption," Enzo brazenly interrupted the woman from ordering a shot of vodka. She hesitantly looked his way, and _gotdamn _the transplant from London thought. Had he ever seen a more gorgeous face, Enzo didn't think so. "But is today your birthday?"

For one second, Bonnie's breath lost its damn way out of her lungs and got stuck in the back of her throat. The man perched to her immediate left was not an exact copy of Henrik but they shared similar features. Tanned skin, dark eyes and hair, but this guy was more compact where Henrik had been lean. Throw in the accent and the wires in her brain flirted with malfunctioning.

Realizing she was staring like a weirdo, Bonnie blushed faintly and nodded. "It is. Happy Birthday to me," she faux cheered.

"Happy birthday, indeed. I would be honored if you allowed me to buy you a drink."

Free drink on her birthday, Bonnie knew it would be unwise to turn down the offer. But it was the unspoken law to make it clear a free drink was all he was going to get. "Sure, thank you…" she prompted waiting for him to tell her his name.

Enzo struck out a hand, "Lorenzo…Lorenzo Riodan, but all my friends call me Enzo."

"Sheila," Bonnie said at the last minute unsure of why she gave this perfect stranger her middle name. It was a habit of hers she established during her college days to avoid potential stalkers in bars.

"And I'm Mason," the burly guy sitting on the opposite side of her free drink benefactor interjected. Bonnie smiled and said it was nice to meet him.

Enzo flagged down the bartender. "Today is her birthday so you have to be especially nice, but on top of that on your game tonight. Give the lady whatever she wants," brown eyes simmered in her direction.

Warmth, something she hadn't felt in a long time began to spread. Bonnie dodged his look, using her hair as a shield from his gaze. Instead she concentrated on the plethora of bottles lined on the shelves behind the bar.

"On that note," Bonnie said, "I'll have a…Absolut Wet Spot. Thanks."

The bartender, Enzo, and Mason's eyes bulged.

"It's been a while since I've made one of those," the bartender, a twenty something year old man with russet skin, thick black curly hair, and light hazel eyes winked at Bonnie.

"Pray tell, what is that?" Enzo inquired and leaned just a little bit closer thinking he had pegged this woman all wrong.

This woman, this Sheila, gave off the vibe she was shy and perhaps uncomfortable with male attention. Her eyes, though a beautiful shade of green they were, looked haunted to him. Despite that he sensed there was some mischief inside of her, a seductress searching for the right person to bring her true self to the surface. He saw no ring on her finger, but to be fair there was a faint tan line of one having been there possibly months or even weeks ago. Maybe she was going through a divorce or maybe he was giving this too much thought and not springing into action.

Moistening her lips with her tongue, Bonnie faced Enzo head on. "Traditionally it's made with half an ounce of Bailey's Irish cream, half an ounce of DeKuyper liqueur, and half an ounce of Absolut vodka."

"That sounds…delicious."

"It is," Bonnie concurred.

"Is it a requirement at all your birthday celebrations?"

"No. I was just suddenly in the mood for one," she turned away from Enzo once more.

"I know it's in poor taste to ask a lady her age," he began. Bonnie peeked at him. "However old you are, you are stunning to behold."

Mason rolled his eyes—granted he couldn't disagree, chuckled a little, and went back to watching the game.

Bonnie's cheeks heated. "Thank you. It's…it's been a while since I heard something along those lines."

"That's a sin and a shame. Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with these American blokes. Have they lost their ability to truly appreciate beauty? Is it no longer considered manly to compliment a woman until the point she can hardly breathe?"

"I really wouldn't know," Bonnie shook her head and then smiled as her shot was placed in front of her. "Thank you," she said to the bartender. "I've been…out of the dating loop for a while."

"So what's a while? A week?" Enzo smiled charmingly.

Clearing her throat and fighting a smile, Bonnie threw the shot back. She moaned lightly. All three men's gazes were raptured on her.

"There you are," a foreign voice entered the picture.

Bonnie shifted on her feet and her shoulders slumped slightly. Right. It was time to get back to her party. "I have to go. Thank you for the drink, Enzo."

He held out his hand, and when Bonnie placed hers in his grasp, he kissed her knuckles. "The pleasure, I assure you, was all mine."

Smiling, Bonnie gently pulled her hand out of his and followed Rebekah back upstairs.

Enzo watched her stroll away noticing her walk had changed from earlier. Her hips swayed as if she were conducting an orchestra with her movement. Gads, it had completely slipped his mind he hadn't asked for her number and he hadn't given her his. How could he have overlooked that? True, his trip to the States was only for a week but…

"Stop being a perv," Mason ended Enzo's gawking. "Just got a text from Damon. Change of plans. He wants us to meet him at his place instead."

The two men paid their tab and quickly vacated the eatery.

:::::

Hour one she posed for pictures, blew out the candles on her birthday cake, and had to endure her father telling horrifying childhood stories about her skin condition during her pre-teen years, and the fact she was called Yuck-Mouth because of her braces. Hour two, the liquor she had consumed mixed and mingled with her cells and Bonnie was beginning to crack out of her cocoon, and spread her wings like an inebriated butterfly flirting—or at the very least trying to flirt with anything that moved. Even the ice cubes that floated in her drink were not exempt. By hour three she was a lush, laughed at everything regardless if it were funny or not. She noticed some of her constituents traded looks wondering if the birthday girl bit off more than she could chew, and wondered how long it would take for the water works to begin. If she didn't dance on the table top first.

Bonnie could hardly keep her lids open. Alcohol always made her sleepy. Her body seemed weighted down with cement whenever she tried to stand on her legs which wobbled uncontrollably.

She stood with the intent of making her way around the room to thank people she hadn't exactly kept in contact with in the last few months, for coming to her little shindig. However, the floor seemingly disappeared out from beneath her.

Elijah had been there to prevent her from chin diving to the ground. Giggles, snorts, and wheezes greeted him as Bonnie pawned at his chest to find some purchase because the world became a cyclone and she had been ejected out of a rollercoaster.

"It's time to get you home," Elijah brushed her hair out of her eyes. Eyes overwrought with spindles of red veins.

"Yes," she breathed her alcohol laced breath into his face. Elijah didn't turn his head away from the pungent odor. "Home is a good place to be," she singsong.

"Do you need help seeing her home?" Finn offered. For most of the night he kept to his corner, conversing here and there, but otherwise he observed the festivities around him. He was painfully inept when it came to socializing with those beyond his family, and even with them he took on the role of outcast.

"No, I have her," Elijah wrapped one arm around Bonnie's waist, the other curling under her knees and he lifted her clean off her feet.

Bonnie's head rolled to the side, her cheek made contact with his chest, and her eyes fluttered. Yes, finally she could sleep.

Lacey approached. She had grabbed all of Bonnie's belongings. "Her gifts are in a taxi waiting downstairs. I have everything she brought with her. We need to get her coat on."

"Just throw it over her," Elijah advised.

The second she was covered he began the daunting trek of maneuvering down the narrow stairway and out the front door of the restaurant. No one looked overly concerned with him carrying an unconscious woman in his arms. But this was New York after all. Shit was normal.

The yellow cab was double parked. Exhaust rose from the tailpipe, the back passenger door was already open. As carefully as he could, Elijah draped Bonnie over the black leather seat and propped her up. Lacey climbed in beside her. She expected Elijah to close the door, but went he got in the cab she gawked at him with a semi-open mouth.

"Where are you going?" he asked Lacey.

It took a few seconds for his question to compute. She rattled off her address.

"That's where we'll go first," Elijah directed at the cab driver who pulled away and in due time. One of New York's finest turned down their street, and were not kind to double parkers.

The ride was silent. Lacey spent most of her time fiddling with her smart phone debating if she should volunteer to stay with Bonnie. They were close and spent a couple of overnighters with one another so it wouldn't be a big deal. Yet she reminded herself that the debonair looking man was her family and Bonnie would be safe with him. However, doubt knocked on her door telling her in some situations it wasn't wise to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

The cab pulled in front of her apartment complex sooner than expected. "Thanks for tonight," Lacey began a bit awkwardly. "I'm glad Bonnie had a good time."

"I'm glad, too and thank you for your help tonight and getting her to agree to come. I'll see you later, Lacey."

"All right, Elijah. Tell Bonnie I'll see her at work," she measured Bonnie's partially slouched position tucked under Elijah's arm. "On second thought maybe not. Tell her I'll call her."

It took some doing but Elijah suppressed his smile. "Will do." He told the cab driver not to pull off until Lacey was behind the locked door of her apartment. Afterwards, he rattled off Bonnie's address and then hunted through her purse for her house keys.

Thirty minutes later the cab pulled outside of Bonnie's brownstone. Fifteen minutes later Elijah had unloaded the last of Bonnie's presents inside the foyer, and then finally pulled the woman in question out of the cab and carried her inside.

Bonnie gave a grunt of complaint and wondered although vaguely why she was being jostled around so much. With great effort she peeled open an eye and could barely recognize her own living room.

She heard feet moving around and sat up straighter on the couch. "Hen…"

Elijah appeared before she could finish getting her deceased husband's name out. Bonnie swallowed the cotton ball in her mouth.

"It's all right. You're home."

Looking around for verification Bonnie relaxed yet only infinitesimally. "I should…I should get to bed."

"Okay. I'll call you later to check up on you," Elijah offered.

Bonnie rose from the couch and willfully ignored the tension sprouting between them. With his presence here the living room began to shrink in size. Maybe it was all a trick of the alcohol affecting her brain. Her head was pounding, her mouth was dryer than unbuttered toast, and her gag reflex refused to settle down. Bonnie wanted to be alone, but at the same time she didn't want to be a bad hostess. The least she could do was offer Elijah a cup of coffee.

"Would you…would you like something to drink before you leave?"

Elijah's brow furrowed. Some nebulous part of him was bothered by the fact she wanted him gone so soon. Yet that was overshadowed with common sense. Why would she expect or want him to hang around? More importantly, why did he want to?

"No, I'm fine. Are you going to be all right by yourself? You've had a bit to drink."

Bonnie snorted ungraciously. "I'm okay, Elijah. I won't exactly break apart if you aren't watching my every move. It's late. I'm drunk, lonely and horny, and you should probably leave before I forget you're my dead husband's brother."

Two sets of eyebrows lifted. Bonnie turned green in mortification as she slapped both hands over her mouth. Elijah became cryogenically frozen. He threatened the blood in his body not, under any circumstances, to head south.

"I…I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry," the intoxicated birthday girl stammered. "Please forget that I said that."

Elijah smirked, picked up his feet and ambled over to the front door. "I'll take that as my cue to leave. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself tonight."

Bonnie remained parked where she was, not trusting herself to get any closer. "I did. I had a far better time than I expected to have. Thank you for putting my party together."

Inclining his head, Elijah stepped through the door and closed it gently after his exit.

When Bonnie felt it safe to move, she did so crossing over the living room and setting all the locks into place.

Standing at the door for a minute, she ran her fingers over her arms and then went off to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Gulping it down, Bonnie freed her toes from her shoes and began to disrobe, pulling off one article of clothing at a time as she wove her way through the house and entered her bedroom.

Turning on the light, she was no longer tired but wide awake. Despite what she said and how she said it, Bonnie had spoken the absolute truth. She was lonely and she was horny. Her birthday wasn't just special in the usual sense but also…Henrik made it his duty to give her as many orgasms in correlation to her years on earth. If he could.

Nibbling on a corner of her lip, Bonnie slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties, pulled them off. Unhooked her bra and it took flight. She jumped into bed, reached in her bedside table, and unearthed her vibrator and KY Jelly.

She bought the stupid but useful tool about a month after Henrik's funeral. She felt wrong and dirty for having to stoop to this level to get her rocks off, but before becoming a widow she had the libido of a college frat boy.

Turning out the light, Bonnie closed her eyes and switched her friend on.

She didn't want to think about anything else but Henrik. His smell, the sound of his husky voice whenever he was hard; his hot grabby hands sliding over her, greedy to touch her eagerly receptive body in places that would make her feel as if she jumped over the moon.

Spreading her legs, Bonnie initiated foreplay by running the vibrator along the inside of her thighs. Her nipples puckered due to the chilly temperature of the room and from anticipation. Bonnie merely grazed her clit and her breath hitched from that minute contact. She circled her opening and may have pushed only an inch or so of the vibrator inside before withdrawing. It had been so long her end already seemed imminent.

"Henrik, I miss you." And Bonnie proceeded to screw herself until she came screaming.

But the euphoria had been fleeting and lasted no longer than the time it took for her heart to regulate its beating. Her skin pebbled and so did tears as they clung to her lashes, clumping them together before leaving tracks on her cheeks. She was hollow, as dead as Henrik was on the inside. Tonight had been fun but she merely played a part. Everyone expected Bonnie Mikaelson—correction—Bennett to be happy at her own birthday party so that's exactly what she delivered.

Yet anytime she looked at any one member of the Mikaelson dynasty, there had been a gaping hole next to the person. A hole only Henrik's presence could have filled.

A strangled scream escaped Bonnie's grimacing mouth and she stifled the sound by clamping her hands over her lips.

Why did he have to die? Why did she have to be alone?

She rolled over and tucked herself into the fetal position and spent the next twenty minutes sobbing uncontrollably.

"_You're not alone, Bonnie. I promised you that I would never leave you. And I haven't. I'm a lot closer to you than you think. You won't always feel this way. You won't always feel the emptiness of my absence. You will be happy again, love. You'll see. Don't I always keep my word to you?"_

"You said you'd never hurt me, but you lied," Bonnie complained aloud despite the fact the only one to hear her words were herself.

"_If it had been in my power, of course I never would have died and left you all alone. Like I said, I'm a lot closer to you than you think. You'll feel my love again, Bonnie. Now close your eyes. Close them, go to sleep and know I'm waiting for you. And I always will be."_

Sleepiness rolled into Bonnie's train station. Her eyes drooped and she did her best to fight it, but finally succumbed to unconsciousness where she met Henrik in her dreams.

* * *

**Barclay Towers—Manhattan, NY**

March 3rd 2014 6:46 a.m.

_Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby, you can be the director of the opponent's fate_—Sun Tzu

Damon took those words to heart, both figuratively and literally during his long, arduous recovery phase. Five months later and he was still adjusting to the medications he had to gag down in order to make sure the antibodies in his blood didn't attack his new heart mistaking it for a foreign invasion, a virus that had to be destroyed.

His morning routine had been altered from starting his day with a shot of Patron and clearing his vision with Visine eye drops to chase the redness away due to the long hours he worked, and the short hours he slept. Now Damon began his mornings doing forty-five minutes of cardio and lifting weights in the gym provided in the high-rise he now called home. After showering, he made himself a tasteless breakfast of egg whites, plain oatmeal, gluten-free wheat toast with grape jam, juice, and chased it with his immunosuppressant drugs, and blood pressure medicine. He also had to take magnesium, phosphorus, and calcium supplements.

Damon hated popping pills. He longed for the days where he shocked the cells in his body with a burst of caffeine, and ate as much bacon and red meat as he damn well pleased. He hated being careful in feeling as if he had to walk on eggshells within his own body as not to upset its balance.

Going through a nasty divorce gave him a couple of setbacks of course. Had to do a couple of overnighters in the hospital thanks in part to haggling with Elena and her she-devil of an attorney.

Just says after his surgery as he was about to have his first physical therapy session, Elena had come charging into his room demanding to know why he granted Stefan Power of Attorney over his estate. It was pretty obvious to him and to anyone else it was a strategic move to push Elena out of his life, and get the ball rolling on filing for a divorce.

He didn't expect her to leave quietly nor with a shred of dignity. Damon had spent the previous months before his surgery conferring with his lawyers and preparing himself for Elena and her claws because the fight was going to be dirty, mean, and maybe even life-threatening. They had signed a prenup and though Elena broke out all her charms and wiles to get him to renege on their pre-contract, Damon didn't budge.

And that infuriated Elena to no end and she went about challenging him on everything.

Hindsight being 20/20, Damon was glad he went through with his reversible vasectomy because he honest to God didn't want any kids with Elena or any more ties with her, period. She did what she could to get pregnant and he never actually told Elena he got snipped. A willing oversight on his end. Damon did it for insurance purposes and it paid off. She would walk away from their marriage with an undeserved million dollars and all the clothes, gifts, accessories, and her Benz his hard earn cash paid for. That was the extent of his generosity.

The house on Long Island—his. The summer home in the Hamptons—his. The Salvatore villa on the coast of Italy—his. Stocks, bonds, foreign exchanges, trust fund—his. Elena had no claim to any of it.

But she must have fallen and bumped her head as she tried to contest the divorce, and say she was entitled to half though they had barely been married for five years.

So Damon gleefully reminded his country bumpkin wife as he pointed out the fine print on their prenuptial agreement that she approved of the terms of the settlement should they divorce within a specific time frame, _on top of _agreeing to walk away with nothing if she committed any acts of infidelity. If Damon cheated, in addition to the million dollars he promised her, he would give Elena half a million dollars for each year they had been married, and was even willing to relinquish the house on Long Island to her, but that was it.

They had been engaged in a bitter battle of he said/she said despite the terms that had been written in the prenup, and incontrovertible proof that one of them couldn't keep their genitalia to themselves.

Elena wanted her just due. Damon just wanted her to be gone like a peasant. His lawyers were working on yet another settlement that would be appeasing to the gold digger, and Damon had to grind his teeth. But, he was so done with everything he was almost ready to give her ten million cash just to get her off his ass.

Almost but not quite.

Their marriage hadn't been all bad or all good. Damon constantly had to remind himself of why he married Elena in the first place. She seemed like a down to earth person having grown up in a small town in Virginia. She moved to New York to start her modeling career, and her portfolio came across his desk since he owned and operated one of the top billing modeling agencies on the east coast.

Elena had been one of those rare finds where she could do catalog, high fashion, or an editorial spread. She had been sweet but gullible, and something about her reminded him of his late mother, and before he knew it they were dating. And the next time he looked up they were married.

If only he had heeded Stefan's advice and really gotten to know Elena _first_. Yet Damon figured getting to know someone meant sharing your life with that person. It couldn't happen within a few months. Most models wanted to be an actress and Elena had put on an award-winning performance. She hid the qualities that initially drawn him to her under makeup, designer clothes, and an endless cash flow.

Maybe marriage hadn't been the best option and now Damon was doing everything in his power to get out of it. He had another goal in mind he wanted to bring to fruition, and he certainly couldn't be tied down with a wife he hated.

Sliding on his Oxford shirt, Damon's eyes immediately went to the vertical scar that was four and a half inches long right in the center of his breastplate. He sucked in a deep breath before eyeing his reflection. He still wasn't comfortable walking around topless, self-consciousness and vanity kicking in. Damon never had any problems showing off his body; he was proud of it and once he hit puberty and started developing muscle he took every opportunity he could to show it off.

Now, he felt defective whenever he looked at his scar but was no less appreciative of the gift he was given.

His heart was doing fine. His prognosis was nothing less than supernatural, is what his team of cardio-thoracic physicians told him. Damon was positive he'd be doing much better if he didn't have to deal with Aileen Wuornos' mini-me.

Reaching for his David Yurman timepiece, he placed it on his wrist. He hosed himself down with cologne, picked up his cell phone and opened up his email to see if there had been any updates from the private investigator he hired to find Bonnie Bennett.

A general search on Facebook turned up nothing. Though there had been a faceless hit, Damon couldn't be sure it was her, and never left the person a message or requested to be friends, plus he felt kind of dumb so he hired a professional to do all the digging for him.

Many might view what Damon was doing as foolish. A waste of time. Years passed and here he was holding on to fleeting moments. He and Bonnie had never been friends. Their one connection being they attended the same college. Even he couldn't believe he became infatuated with her due to her own clumsiness.

What should have withered away to the doldrums of hookups unrealized, that encounter with Bonnie Bennett stayed with Damon for some inexplicable reason.

Life got in the way on top of other pursuits, but every blue moon or so Damon would think back to his college days, to the night he saved Bonnie from mortal embarrassment, to the fact she hugged a perfect stranger as if he were her friend. In the back of his mind he knew all of her actions were a product of her being nice, and maybe he only wanted it to mean more because his associations succeeding after that never exactly measured up in their sincerity. Whatever the case or explanation, something innate in him just wouldn't let this go.

And now with a new heart beating behind his ribs, Damon felt uncannily closer to Bonnie.

Maybe this was pointing to something huge, or maybe he just needed to get laid. He hadn't had sex since his surgery fearing what the exertion might do to his heart. Not to say he didn't succumb to morning wood, but he was exercising restraint.

His cell phone rang startling him out of his stupor. Seeing it was his PI, he immediately answered.

"Hey, Galen what you got for me?"

"I found her," he reported in his heavy Scottish accent Damon needed subtitles to understand a third of what he was saying.

"You did?" already the beat of his heart quickened, blood rushed to his head and Damon was struck with a nauseating case of vertigo. He leaned his hip against his dresser to steady himself.

"I can fax over the official…"

"No, no, no tell me now. Where is she?"

"Right under your nose, mate. She's in Manhattan."

Damon wanted to shout but reframed from doing so. "Married, single, divorced?"

"Widow."

Hmm, he thought some of his excitement leaking out of him. "Go ahead and fax me the info. Thanks, Galen."

"No problem."

The two men hung up simultaneously. Damon tapped his chin with his phone—contemplating.

Nice and slow, or fast and easy?

He never did like waiting.

**Two weeks later…**

_She wormed her way through the gyrating crowd and came to a semi-abrupt stop the minute she spied a man with dark hair, Roman features and the most striking and smoldering pair of azure eyes she had ever seen. And those orbs were fixed on her in particular. Why could she hear the echo of her pounding heart in her ears?_

_He stood unmoving like a sentinel amidst the buoyant club goers too caught up in their ecstasy to take much notice of the fact a literal Adonis stood among their ranks. She was sure the artist in Klaus would have fallen in love at first sight._

_Making eye contact with him made her nervous. Not the bad kind like she was in danger, but the kind that meant she might forget all the rules of engagement and skip to the end where clothes lost their importance, and two bodies came together to fuck. Ravenously hard and all night. She flushed to her manicured toes because she never had that kind of overt response to any guy. Had never been hit hard so hard with attraction that it nearly knocked her off her feet. She had been attracted to her late husband instantaneously, but not…not like_ this!

_Who was he? _

TBC

**A/N: I'm playing around with the 6-degrees of separation theory where certain people are a lot closer than they think. I will be going slightly back into the past to show Damon's reunion with his friends, and maybe a DE flashback. So Mrs. Gilbert-Salvatore was recorded getting down and dirty at a friend's bachelorette party, hmm, but that's not all. And of course D-Money would hire a PI to find Bonnie. Bamon interaction coming soon. Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I am on a Bamon roll. Muse don't fail me now. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, added to your faves, alerts all that groovy stuff. Keep on spoiling me, and I'll keep on writing. Enjoy! **

Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith/CW Network. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

February 21st, 2014 8:40 pm

"I met a beautiful lass tonight."

"Is that supposed to be news?" Damon gave his friend a perfunctory stare as he shrugged his shoulders.

Enzo could hardly go forty-eight hours without meeting a new "lass" as he loved to call the women who crossed his path and immediately fell for his above average features and British accent. Couldn't forget about the accent.

The man in question leaned forward in the leather arm chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he balanced a bottle of beer between his fingers. "No, it's not supposed to be news but…and I've seen countless gorgeous women before, but there was something about this one that just…" he trailed off unable to find the words. His mouth fell into the shape of an O, a faraway almost dreamy look came into Lorenzo's eyes.

Damon arched a dark eyebrow and looked at Mason for confirmation who merely nodded his head in agreement. "All right. So what did she look like? If you can even find the words to describe how this woman is so different from the hundreds of other women you've met since you started nocturnal emissions?"

Enzo gifted Damon with the finger and took a swig of beer. Mason chuckled.

It wasn't exactly a rule, but it had been silently agreed that Enzo and Damon both thought of themselves as modern-day Casanovas and battled it out. Not on the number of women they could smash, but the _quality_ of women they decided would decorate their arm for an evening or two. Or until someone better came prancing along.

Mason preferred women with edge. They didn't have to be polished socialites, hailing from rich families with connections out of the wahzoo, and were beautiful beyond imagination. If a woman could watch twenty minutes of a sports game and not complain about being bored, liked drinking beer or doing shots, and riding in his monster jeep and not make a fuss about getting dirty—then they had a chance to be romanced by him.

His two friends, Mason wouldn't call them snobs, at least not to their faces. Wait, what was he saying? Of course he had and did refer to his boys as _Prince of Cats_, girly men from time to time mostly just to ruffle their feathers and rag on them. Damon was the metrosexual one out of the bunch, and Enzo had his high tea moments as well, but they could be gritty and gutter when necessary.

He quietly sipped his beverage, eyes volleying between the conversation taking place, and the game playing lowly on the flat screen.

"Well, she was a petite, elfin little thing. Fine bones, lovely bone structure all hidden under supple caramel skin…"

"Dear Playboy…" Mason sniggered. Damon chortled.

"Shut it," Enzo sniffed and continued. "She had the most stunning pair of green eyes, dark wavy hair, a mouth oddly enough shaped like Cupid's bow…"

Dread crash landed in the bottom of Damon's stomach. Those features his friend was describing sounded like Bonnie Bennett to a T. Instead of jumping to conclusions because, Damon was sure, there may have been a hundred or so women in the city who shared a similar physical appearance to her, he refused to believe the world was _that _damn small.

"Did she give you a name?" Damon's voice had taken on a gravelly quality.

"She did. _Sheila_," Enzo grinned deviously. "That's all she told me and I was too enthralled I failed to get her number. I doubt she would have given it to me anyways. She looked…it was her birthday but she didn't exactly look as if she were in party mode."

_This _couldn't _be happening, _Damon thought. He knew that today was Bonnie's birthday. The odds of it not being her seemed to shrink.

Rising from his couch, Damon headed over to his floor-to-ceiling windows. New York was beautiful at night and he had an amazing view of it from his penthouse suite. All this space, no one to share it with. Life changed with the stroke of a scalpel, going through a turbulent divorce, and on the cusp of being reunited with a girl he met at a basketball game during his senior of college.

When the hell did he turn into a character from a Nicholas Sparks novel?

Mason and Enzo traded dubious expressions wondering what flipped Damon's switch. It was pretty much common knowledge the man was the living embodiment of a mood ring. One minute, affable, the next ready to take someone's head off without warning. They often teased him about having too much estrogen for his own good, but deep down they knew Damon suffered with some deep seated insecurities he was never forthcoming with, or had actually made the effort to conquer.

"You feeling all right, man?" Mason asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

"This might be a sore subject," Enzo began tentatively, "but how's the divorce coming along? Any closer to having things finalized?"

Damon drained the rest of his cranberry juice. He abhorred the fact he had to basically eliminate alcohol from his diet. This new heart was simply cramping his style.

He faced his friends. "If you know Elena then you know she's pouting and stomping her feet on the ground and being a complete bitch about everything."

"Told you not to marry her, dude," Mason placed his empty beer bottle on the coaster on the glass coffee table. "She reminded me too much of my ex-girlfriend Kat. Beautiful and self-centered. Egotistical as all get out but a great fuck in bed. I tried to make things last but sex can't be the glue to hold something together."

"Trust me," Damon snorted. "I didn't marry Elena specifically for her skills in the bedroom which had been severely lacking until I took her under my tutelage."

"So why'd you marry her then? I'm sure you've told us your reasons before, but refresh our memories will ya?" Enzo bargained.

He didn't care for Elena one way or the other. He thought she made a nice showpiece but there had been very little substance to her. Enzo always figured Damon could have done much better for himself. Find someone equally as adventurous and cutthroat, but he settled for what they all assumed was the unassuming girl-next-door that was very green about everything. Elena had the consistency of vanilla. Bland looking but kind of a nice taste if you like straightforwardness.

Then it was like she had undergone a personality change the second her career as a top model took off, which to be fair had been expected. Damon began spending more time at the office to escape Elena who retired at the ripe age of twenty-six. He didn't have all the details in what corroded his mate's marriage, but if Enzo had to take a guess, he'd put his money on infidelity.

Who the unfaithful party was…he didn't know.

Damon retook his seat—thinking. What exactly was it that made him fall for Elena? She had beauty but so did every single woman he worked with or employed. She was smart but deeply clueless about real world matters. Perhaps he saw something in her he could mold, make great. Maybe she had been nothing more than a project for him because he had grown bored of his life and took _a lot _for granted. In some ways, Elena had humanized Damon, brought him back down to earth that not everyone was jaded, cynical, and only looking out for themselves.

He said as much to his friends, and when they asked where did things take a turn for the worst, he replied,

"Right after my heart attack."

Mason shook his head. "That's fucked up."

"The weeks beforehand we could hardly agree on the brand of toilet paper to buy. What really hammered the final nail in the coffin was her cheating on me with a stripper at one of her snotty friend's bachelorette parties."

Enzo and Mason's jaws collectively dropped.

"You're kidding?" Enzo was simply astonished.

"I wish I were."

"You don't seem all that upset about it," Mason drew a measured eye over his boy. "Did you dip your stick in one of those models you manage?"

Damon was outraged. "Sorry, I come from a long line of Italian men whose word is their bond. I've been tempted—you know I have. But I don't shit where I eat. Yes, I was livid. Wanted to kill her when I found out. But I looked at it as a crappy blessing in disguise. I had the ammo I needed to divorce her ass and send her packing, and…I could finally pursue the one who got away."

"The one who got away?" Enzo lifted a brow. "And who might this person be?"

Smiling cryptically all Damon would commit to saying was, "You'll see. Look, I can't lay all the blame on Elena on why our relationship became toxic. I did things I shouldn't have done. Behaved like a child to get her to leave me alone. Insulted her. But I never thought she'd drop her drawers and spread her legs for someone else. I did love her. Guess…I didn't do a good job of showing her I did."

"Still," Enzo added his two cents, "that's no excuse for her to make a cuckold out of you."

"Cuckold? What century are you living in, dude?" Mason could hardly keep the mirth off his face.

"Jealousy that I actually know the English language better than you do is not becoming, love."

Damon rolled his pretty blue eyes as his college buddies began bickering back and forth. If Stefan were here they'd all be holding their stomachs and rolling on the ground. He lived for doing his rendition of Enzo's accent.

"Am I going to have to put you two in a time out?" Damon threatened.

"No, mom," Enzo and Mason chirped in unison.

"Let's get things back on track."

Two hours later, Damon shuffled his obnoxious friends out of his condo, and plunged the place into darkness. He did some debriefing in his home office, stripped, took a shower, popped his meds, and stared up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

Elena cheating on him did hurt—crushed his ego, but Damon wasn't exactly surprised by her actions. She thought she had been slick, the long looks she would give Stefan when she figured his mind was elsewhere. The way she flirted with the male models and even staff of his company. The elder Salvatore calculated it would only be a matter of time before his lovely wife stepped out, and maybe he even counted on it to hasten things. He stopped loving her a long time before she committed adultery and now he just wanted to be free.

He didn't know what the future held. If he would one day strike up the courage to actually approach Bonnie. Even if he did there was no guarantee he was actually her type. He needed to prepare himself for all scenarios, but Damon was a strategist and a winner. The odds would be in his favor.

* * *

**Queens, NY**

February 24th, 2014 6:13 p.m.

The good die young; evil lives forever. Bonnie didn't know who came up with those rules. Circumstances happened that were beyond anyone's control, and the things which could be controlled were still susceptible to falling apart. Where then did anyone stand in the grand scheme of things if things were scheduled to happen on a specific clock?

Closing the last and final box of Henrik's things, Bonnie attempted to swallow the lump festering in the back of her throat. Cleaning out his closet, going through his dresser drawers, folding his garments, and putting them into boxes hadn't been explicitly Bonnie's idea, but Rebekah's.

She had shown up at the brownstone three days after her birthday party with a bottle of chardonnay and packing tape.

"Rebekah," Bonnie closed her robe and tied the knot wondering what her former sister-in-law was doing in her borough knowing how much she hated Queens. "What are you doing here?"

"I come bearing gifts and…it's time to move Henrik's things."

Bonnie had been so tempted, extremely tempted to slam the door in Rebekah's face for her audacity. The two had been cordial through the years—asking each other the appropriate questions to feign interest but that's where things began and ended. Bonnie had never been the type to jump through hoops to impress anyone. So she kept her in-laws at arm's length. Maybe she stereotyped them because they had known wealth and success all their lives, and Bonnie came from humble beginnings, but she didn't lift too many fingers to find a commonality outside of Henrik with her extended family.

Now here stood her sister-in-law thinking it was perfectly fine to show up on her doorstep out of the blue telling her she needed to pack Henrik's things. Who the _hell _did she think she was?

"You have a lot of nerve," Bonnie practically hissed. She had seen a less rigid side of Rebekah at her party and it almost made Bonnie want to open up. The door had just been slammed shut on that.

Rebekah wasn't the type to take no for an answer. No one needed to tell her how impertinent it was to show up without an invitation and think Bonnie would be open to her suggestion of removing all traces of her brother from the home he shared with his wife. Her intentions weren't to be cruel, but to help Bonnie ease out of her mourning phase and reenter life.

Perhaps she miscalculated in thinking her birthday party meant Bonnie was ready to turn over a new leaf. Her smile dropped, and the bottle of wine looked seconds away from crashing to the hard ground below and shattering.

"I'm sorry," Rebekah said softly. "I don't know why I'm here actually. I guess…I was thinking of Henrik earlier and he used to wear this shirt, a horrid thing. It was bright yellow, tight as hell, and had some weird design on it but he loved it so much. He bought it from a boy who was selling his personal things in order to feed his family in San Marcos. The shirt was literally worth nothing, but Henrik must have paid a good two hundred dollars for it."

Bonnie nodded. She knew which shirt Rebekah had been referring to. Relenting, she stepped aside, and waved Rebekah inside her home. Bonnie confiscated the bottle of wine. Rebekah smiled shakily and entered the two story dwelling; eyes taking an inventory of everything.

The place wasn't opulently furnished like her Fifth Avenue apartment, but everything she saw, Rebekah knew had been selected with love in mind, which sounded horribly clichéd; however, the truth was right in front of her. This place was more of a home than her cold and modernly decorated penthouse. Immediately, Rebekah felt her brother's spirit, and that was the main reason why she came here. She wanted to be close to her brother.

The two women sat on the couch. An awkward silence passed between them.

"I know which shirt you're talking about," Bonnie opened up. "He didn't wear it that often, but he told me about its significance when I questioned him about it. Henrik had such a big heart."

"He did," the blonde replied and swiped a tear from the corner of her eye before it had the chance to fall. "Some days," Rebekah chuckled, "I believed he was switched at birth. When it came to community service he actually volunteered and didn't just cut a check like my parents; or stayed around long enough to do a photo-op wearing gloves and feeding the homeless. I still can't believe he's gone," her chin quivered.

Bonnie had to look away from Rebekah or she would have started crying, too. "I wake up every morning wishing it were a nightmare. This place isn't the same," she looked around her home. "We need a drink."

"Agreed."

Cracking open the bottle and killing it within minutes, Bonnie and Rebekah laughed as they told old stories about their time and relationship with Henrik. Bonnie thought she knew nearly everything about her deceased husband, but what Rebekah disclosed had her holding her sides and shaking her head at his willful stupidity.

"He really believed he could get a girl pregnant by going down on her?" Bonnie giggled.

"He had our grandmother to thank for scaring him straight when it came to sex at the tender age of thirteen. Klaus was the one who actually set Henrik up. He went to our grandmother saying he was concerned about Henrik and that she should talk to him to make sure he didn't make any illegitimate children."

Children, hearing that made a pang go off in Bonnie's chest and stomach. She would never have his children…but…

"I got a strange phone call the other day," she confessed suddenly.

"Yeah? From who?" Rebekah tossed back the last remaining drop of wine in her glass.

"A fertility clinic," Bonnie shook her head.

Rebekah's mouth plopped open. "Why would a fertility clinic call you?"

"Apparently Henrik had his sperm frozen," the widow explained dubiously. "The clinic must have received a notice or something about his death, and they called me since Henrik had requested I be contacted should anything happen to him. I think he had it frozen before we were married. Anyways, the clinic wanted to know what I wanted to do with it. Either use it on myself, have it destroyed, or donated," Bonnie rolled her eyes. She was beginning to hate that word donate.

"Wow," Rebekah fell back heavily against the cushioned back of the couch. "Do you know what you're going to do? Do you want to have a baby?"

That was the question which drove Bonnie up a wall. She didn't know what to do, how to handle this situation. Yes, she wanted to be a mother and raise her child or children with her husband, but her husband was dead, his organs spread across the nation. Bonnie could have a piece of Henrik to herself that was more tangible than memories and photos; however, she didn't want to be a single mother.

Bonnie finally replied after a hard sigh, "I haven't decided. I have time, but if Henrik's death taught me anything is that time is precious and nothing is promised to us. I don't want to squander the opportunity, but at the same token I'm not mentally prepared to be a single mom."

Rebekah commiserated, "Believe me, I understand." She had a few pregnancy scares back in college and made a firm vow with herself to take her birth control religiously, and find the most mature man she could to start a family with.

She and Marcel had been married for less than two years. Mrs. Gerard knew neither one of them was mentally ready for parenthood, but she did desire to have her own family.

"Whatever you decide, I'm here for you, Bonnie. You won't have to go through pregnancy and raising a child on your own. Your baby would be my little niece or nephew and would want for nothing. Mikaelson's take care of their own."

Bonnie smiled and nodded. "I have time I don't need to decide anything right now. I just want to get through this year. No other interruptions, _please_," she stressed that word emphatically.

Talk of babies, and some of Henrik's greatest hits and failures made Bonnie rise from the couch and head into her bedroom, and she didn't stop walking until she reached the closet. She flicked on the light.

His suits hung there waiting to be perused, waited to be selected, worn and accessorized. Knowing what a humanitarian her late husband was, Henrik would want Bonnie to donate his: suits, shoes, and other personal effects like watches and cufflinks to a men's shelter or Goodwill.

Bonnie strolled down the walk-in closet reverently touching his things. She picked up the sleeve of one his button downs, held it to her nose, and inhaled. His scent was there but faint.

Too much was happening at one time. Losing her best friend, burying him, having the chance to carry on Henrik's legacy by having his child. Bonnie could only take one step at a time.

The first step being doing something he would want her to do.

"I'm doing this for you," Bonnie said as she started pulling things off the rack. If this were up to her she'd keep all this stuff.

Rebekah entered the room and nearly a third of Henrik's things littered the king sized bed. She only observed Bonnie, seeing the tears fall silently down her cheeks, probably trying not to think about items she personally bought as birthday, Christmas, anniversary, or just because gifts.

The two women began to work in silence and two hours later, most of Henrik's things were arranged although haphazardly.

"How do you feel?" Rebekah questioned when they took a break.

Bonnie swallowed thickly. "Alone…but free."

"Then you're on the right track. His things may no longer be here, but he'll never leave you."

"I know that."

Impulsively, Rebekah kissed Bonnie on the cheek and disappeared to get another box.

* * *

**Chelsea, NY**

March 25th, 2014 1:15 p.m.

Damon would not constitute what he was doing as stalking. He was simply several blocks away from his office about to partake of some lunch. Nothing wrong with that and a man needed to eat. Sure, where he may have chosen to have lunch at a restaurant located in the neighborhood where Bonnie Bennett worked, but hey _that _was mere coincidence.

He thought the decision had been easy. Simple. He would simply…go to the gallery where she worked and pretend to be interested in buying a couple of oil paintings or portraits, and then "act" like he remembered who she was. They would strike up a conversation, exchange business cards, or plug each other's numbers into their smartphones, and promise to get together later for dinner or drinks.

It worked out all so beautifully in his mind. When he finally gathered the courage to put his plan into motion, had actually made it to Chelsea, he froze in mid-emerge from the taxi the second his lapis eyes spotted Bonnie.

She was coming out of the door almost in slow motion to him, a wide, carefree smile on her face making her more radiant than anyone had a right to be under the dreary sky above his head. Damon remained hunched over—arrested and merely watched Bonnie in her element. She had not been alone. A co-worker, an equally beautiful black woman with long obsidian hair, dimples, and large dark brown eyes fashioned in a tailored coat fell into step with Bonnie. The two of them were lost in their own world, and for a moment Damon caught himself smiling goofily for no reason.

That hadn't been the picture of Bonnie Bennett he expected to see. After Mason and Enzo took their drunk asses home, Damon had unearthed the dossier filled with information he didn't really have a legal right to possess about Bonnie, sat behind his desk, and started reading through the file like it was a national best seller.

Her husband had died in a car crash. Bonnie survived with minor injuries. Losing someone hurt no matter how soon or drawn out the death occurred, so Damon expected to see a downtrodden, sallow Bonnie Bennett.

But he wouldn't complain though because if she could display that level of happiness just a few months after her husband's sudden death, that could also mean she wouldn't be opposed to dating.

Just as Damon had made up his mind to "follow" them on foot, he had to cancel that plan when a man walking from the opposite end of the avenue stopped right in front of Bonnie. Damon couldn't see her expression, but he saw the man's, and well he didn't like it. Not. One. Bit. Bonnie and the man exchanged kisses on the cheek, and the guy didn't leave Bonnie's friend out in the cold. He placed a kiss to her cheek as well. The trio exchanged some words, their breath visible in the air because it was as cold as a ghost balls outside.

Then to Damon's horror, the guy wedged himself in between Bonnie and her friend and tossed his arm over the petite's woman shoulder. A clear sign of possession in Damon's eyes.

He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know if the guy was a friend—hopefully gay—or if he and Bonnie were dating, or…and Damon didn't even want to think of the final option.

The worst thing for him to do was to jump to any kind of conclusion without solid proof, and Galen Vaughn his private investigator would have told him if Bonnie were involved with anyone. He wouldn't have left something that important out.

Not knowing what to do, Damon conceded this round, and returned to his place of business, and finished the rest of the work day sullenly.

As soon as he got home, he called Galen up, ripped him a new one, and ordered him to find out who that guy was he saw with Bonnie earlier.

His PI came back a week later calming Damon's racing mind. The guy had been her former brother-in-law Elijah Mikaelson. The name sounded awfully familiar to Damon, and as he continued to read the latest report he found out why. Elijah ran one of his favorite restaurants. He wondered why their paths never crossed because they almost shared the same social circle. Almost.

With that squared away, Damon could breathe a little easier.

He didn't like to question what he would have done if Bonnie were still married, or if she were in a serious relationship. Things had a way of working themselves out. Doors opened when others slammed shut in your face. All anyone had to do was exercise a little faith and patience. Damon could admit he was still working on both.

Lacking confidence wasn't his thing, but he fell victim to it from time to time like anyone else. So instead of taking the ball and running with it, Damon opted to wait.

In present time, he fiddled with his phone, legs crossed, an untouched place of vegetarian lasagna cooling in front of him as he waited for Bonnie to arrive. He knew she liked coming to this organic foods restaurant on Thursdays. This was his first time actually coming inside since discovering that.

Not two seconds after shooing away his over attentive waiter, Damon sat up a bit straighter, but ducked his head when Bonnie and Lacey—he finally discovered her co-worker's name—entered the restaurant.

They were led to a table in his section but were seated behind him and one table over. He was close enough to hear their voices, and from what Damon could recall, her voice when she had been eighteen had been higher in pitch. Now when Bonnie spoke it was smoky and a little on the raspy side.

"Are you still coming to Klaus' studio opening?" Damon heard Bonnie ask.

"Oh, that _is _tonight. It completely slipped my mind. One of my friends from back home is coming up tonight, and I can tell you right now, art isn't his thing."

"Okay so you don't have to come to the opening but we're all going out to celebrate afterwards."

"Where?"

"The Smoke Jazz and Supper Club on Broadway. Klaus' pick naturally. He's obsessed with the twenties."

Damon heard Lacey giggle at what was obviously an inside joke. "I've never been so me and Danny might pop in just to give our congrats. Jazz isn't his thing either."

"I'm sure there'll be an afterparty after the party. I'll text you and let you know for sure."

"Or we could just go out. You don't _have _to go to the afterparty if you're going to the opening, do you?"

"I kind of have to. I helped planned the opening, and the afterparty. Maybe I can sneak out early, hail a cab, and then meet you and Danny."

Damon wished he could add his two cents and tell Bonnie to ditch both and have dinner with him. Now was the perfect opportunity for him to go over and reintroduce himself, get a conversation going and charm the pants off of both Bonnie and Lacey, yet something was holding him back.

Fear? The fear of being rejected? Fear she might not remember him and could easily write him off as some clingy pervert? His moment was right there but for some strange reason it still didn't feel right to Damon.

His phone began ringing, the noise drawing several pairs of nosy orbs in his direction. Digging in the breast pocket of his Armani suit, Damon screened his call, but then decided to answer. He grimaced. It was Elena's attorney.

"Ms. Forbes what the hell do you want?"

"A moment of your time."

"You deal with my lawyers, not me. Now I'm going to ask you again, what do you want? Has Elena signed the papers yet?"

"I've pointed Mrs. Salvatore in all the right directions, but for reasons she has yet to divulge to me, she's holding out. Truth of the matter is, your divorce may take even longer to finalize. I've dropped her as my client."

Damon laughed. "And?"

"If she's not able to obtain and afford counsel…unless you of course were to pay her legal fees as part of whatever settlement the both of you reach, I'm afraid that's the only way your marriage will be dissolved. I've already alerted Mrs. Salvatore of this and she directed me to contact you. I'm only doing so as a courtesy."

"Well thank you for your generosity," Damon retorted facetiously. "So not only is she trying to walk away with half of my money, she's now crying broke, and expects me to cover the cost of her legal fees?"

"You hit the nail on the head. My advice, and I'm giving this for free out of the goodness of my heart, you pay my retainer. I convince her to settle for the five million your lawyers graciously offered, the house on Long Island, Benz, all gifts given throughout the course of your relationship, and you're emancipated of the both of us. She relinquishes the Salvatore name. Goes back to being Elena Gilbert, and you're free to sow your oats on greener pastures. Doesn't that sound ideal?"

"Sounds like heaven," Damon muttered and motioned for his waiter to bring him the check. "How bout I call you before close of business today with my ruling."

"Oh, I'll be waiting. Have a good day, Mr. Salvatore."

Damon did not return the sentiment. Merely hung up, slapped his card on the table, went through the rest of the formalities, and permitted himself one longing gaze at Bonnie.

Lacey noticed him staring and her brow furrowed as if trying to place him. Damon quickly lowered his head, and scurried out of the restaurant before she could say anything to alert Bonnie.

**B||D**

Music, art, love what exactly was the food of life? Bonnie didn't know and she really didn't care at the moment. Her feet were aching in her strappy red bottoms, her back was sore, but the pains were part of the packaged deal when one went out to enjoy the nightlife in New York.

She and Henrik had never really been into the club scene. They'd go out every once in a blue moon, find a private and semi-quiet corner and would just nibble each other's lips all night or until they got a good enough buzz going to hit the dance floor.

Klaus' art studio questionably named Hybrid, had, according to social media, opened with rave reviews. He had even managed to sell a few of his original abstract oils and charcoal sketches. Bonnie had also been successful in wrangling up some extra business for the gallery where she worked as the procurement coordinator.

So tonight had been a little about business, but right now was all about pleasure.

Those in her retinue, Mikaelson clan and a few of their friends had piled into several taxis and town cars and driven to Broadway to partake of smooth jazz and sustenance to replenish depleting energy cells. The parentals went their separate way after their bellies were full of carbohydrates and thirty year old scotch. Anyone who still had wind left in their sails was more than welcome to head off to 230 Fifth Rooftop Bar.

Bonnie sent a text to Lacey to see if she and Danny were still interested in hanging out. It was nearing one o'clock in the morning, and may have decided to call it a night considering Danny had driven from Greengrove which was about four hours away from NYC, and he had done so at the height of rush hour, gridlock traffic turning his four hour trip into a six hour one.

She hadn't received a reply back saying or yea or nay, but Bonnie didn't let that stop her from going.

With her hair up and off her bare shoulders, rocking her hips in the mini Stella McCartney cocktail dress, Bonnie for the first time in months could honestly say she was having a good time.

Her birthday party didn't really count in her estimation because that night Bonnie had done nothing more than played a part. Tonight when she smiled she actually felt the happiness attached to the action. She was far from over Henrik's death, but being involved in life and not being passive, facing each new day was getting easier.

There hadn't been a lull in the music, the laughing, or the dancing, but Bonnie did dip back inside. The rooftop bar offered heaters and a breathtaking view of the Empire State Building, but she just needed a minor breather.

**B||D**

Needle in a haystack. The restaurant may have been the more logical time to approach her, but tonight—early morning—this somehow felt more appropriate to Damon Salvatore. He was at his best after hours since he considered himself to be nocturnal. Night offered protection, cover; shadows were more difficult to spot. He wanted to blend yet also stand out from the multitude. He couldn't even really be sure how he ended up in this bar, but he could thank his business partner Rose for giving him the suggestion.

Bonnie was here. He knew it. So he stood among the dancing crowd, giving off the impression of mellowness when really his brand, spanking new heart was seconds away from hurdling out of his chest.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted her.

**B||D**

She wormed her way through the gyrating crowd and came to a semi-abrupt stop the minute she spied a man with dark hair, Roman features and the most striking and smoldering pair of azure eyes she had ever seen. And those orbs were fixed on her in particular. Why could she hear the echo of her pounding heart in her ears?

He stood unmoving like a sentinel amidst the buoyant club goers too caught up in their ecstasy to take much notice of the fact a literal Adonis stood among their ranks. She was sure the artist in Klaus would have fallen in love at first sight.

Making eye contact with him made her nervous. Not the bad kind like she was in danger, but the kind that meant she might forget all the rules of engagement and skip to the end where clothes lost their importance and two bodies came together to fuck. Ravenously hard and all night. She flushed to her manicured toes because she never had that kind of overt response to any guy. Had never been hit so hard with attraction that it nearly knocked her off her feet. She had been attracted to her late husband instantaneously, but not…not like this!

Who was he?

Bonnie frowned a bit because she was positive although a bit unsure if she had seen him before, or that she should know who he was. But she was arrested nonetheless. The side of her which had a studied and appreciated eye for art picked him apart piece by piece, and the conclusion was the same no matter what. No matter how the jigsaw puzzle was arranged, Bonnie was staring at nothing less than male perfection.

He was hard lines and sharp curves, and yet he didn't look severe but preternaturally handsome. Beautiful. Unreal.

Damon knew how to make a stare feel like a caress, and he was touching her everywhere. Infinitesimally he roamed his eyes over Bonnie's person, drawing a mental map of her features. Nothing about her visage was symmetrical, but it did nothing to subtract from her stunning beauty. Because of the dimness of the club lighting her eyes from a distance appeared black, but he knew better. They were a haunting shade of emerald with flecks of hazel around the outer rim of the iris if he remembered correctly.

Her shoulders were bare and delicate, and those legs which didn't exactly go on for miles were shapely and athletic looking. Damon recalled her head had barely come to his chin—even with six inch heels on. Nothing about Bonnie Bennett reeked little girl, but grown woman in a small, well put together package.

He grinned a little until that crescent moon line appeared on the left side of his mouth.

The guy beckoned her forward by crooking a finger at her. Any other day that would have annoyed Bonnie but instead it made the heat rise under her skin.

The absence of alarms going off in her head quickened her steps towards him as if drawn by his call specifically.

What space had been between them was gone in no time flat. Bonnie stood before him and she wondered at the last minute if her jaw were hanging open with drool leaking from the sides of her mouth. No one who wasn't an android or _real _should look that delicious.

The man bent down to accommodate their notable height differences the second she stood before him.

Even with him hunched over, Bonnie still had to stand on her toes in order to speak directly in his ear to be heard over the roaring music.

His scent—something decidedly masculine and citrusy—distracted her. "I'm sorry, but do I know you? You look very familiar."

Damon grinned harder, loving the sound of her voice speaking intimately into his ear. "Well, I would hope so…_clumsy girl_."

At first Bonnie was lost, not understanding why this total stranger would call her clumsy girl when she hadn't tripped in her shoes once all night. However, that nickname, if she wanted to refer to it as such, did sound vaguely familiar and almost triggered a memory.

She gasped as the connection clicked in her head and she drew back to stare at the man with wide eyes.

"_Oh_," her gaze began with those electric methane eyes, "_my_," despite his chest being housed in a fitted blackberry button down, her imagination was quite capable of filling in the blanks, "_gawd_" her perusal ended with his jean covered legs.

Caramel cheeks reddened after she realized what she did. Bonnie quickly glanced at the man and looked away.

Being accustomed to receiving his fair share of leers, cat calls, and the like, Damon was often treated like a piece of meat, which at times he didn't mind, but this was one of the times he actually cared he met someone's aesthetic approval. The way Bonnie had shamelessly dragged her eyes over his body, she basically eye fucked him. He did his best not to let his thoughts mud slide into the gutter.

Bravely, Damon touched the bottom of Bonnie's chin and tilted her head up—eyes smoldering and demolishing any kind of wall or stronghold she wanted to hide behind.

They said nothing for several seconds. Just stared at one another. Making a connection. People milled around them. Drinks were consumed. The DJ segued one track into the next.

Damon tilted his head to the side and leaned down. Bonnie panicked because she thought he was about to kiss her, but then her panic morphed into embarrassment when he aimed for her ear, and she admonished herself. Of course he wasn't going to kiss you, you dolt! More importantly, why would you want him to? You barely know this man.

"Do you remember me?" Damon intoned. He wanted to bite her lobe.

Bonnie's head bobbed up and down. "I told you," and her top lip may have grazed the bottom of his ear. "I never forget a name…Damon Salvatore," was that her sounding like a phone sex operator?

What was this man doing to her?

Damon pulled away, his eye crinkled around the corner. "Would you like to dance, Bonnie Bennett?"

She nodded again not trusting her voice to be anything more than a husky whisper at this point.

Sliding his fingers down her arm, feeling her skin pebble into goose bumps, Damon took Bonnie by the hand and spun her around.

She gasped and looked at him over her shoulder in surprise, and they began to move. Damon's hands dropped to her hips and burned her through the fabric of her dress.

They were hardly five seconds into dancing when Bonnie's heart rate changed and began to speed. If physical attraction could be felt like a touch, then she was certainly feeling it where Damon Salvatore was concerned. She couldn't believe after all these years she remembered his name, but he wasn't easily forgettable. Not with a pair of eyes like his.

Bonnie sank into him. The ripples of hardened muscles brushed and ground into her supple curves causing her to bite down repeatedly into her lip. She tasted salty blood.

This was better than any fantasy Damon had wasted months conjuring in his mind. This moment was nothing more than pure surrealism. He did his best to keep his excitement to the bare minimum. He had to keep his blood pressure regulated at all costs. But Bonnie's plump ass grinding into his crotch was making things a little unbearably impossible for him.

He pressed Bonnie a little closer. She didn't object and he kept dancing. His penis was hardening against his thigh.

A rush went through Bonnie when a familiar poke poked her bottom.

Unbeknownst to them, their reunion had garnered an audience. Brown eyes narrowed.

Chapter end.

**A/N: Yes, I know still not a whole lot of Bamon, but we're getting there steadily but shortly. So will Bonnie consider being inseminated with Henrik's sperm? Who has the evil eye trained on Bamon? Thank you guys for reading and please let me know what you think. Viva la Bamon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Anyone still breathing in the Bamon fandom? I'm still fangirling over that finale, and if you haven't seen it, what's the hold up? Anywho, thank you loves for the reviews, addition to your lists, and for loving this story. Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**230 Fifth Rooftop Bar—New York**

March 26th, 2014 1:33 a.m.

"Am I holding you too tight?"

His breath—scented spearmint—whispered across her cheek and filled her eardrum. Bonnie shook her head and had to bite her lip or otherwise she would have complained about him not holding her tight enough.

They had plenty of room to dance. The crowd was dense as to be expected, but bodies weren't necessarily crushed together making it impossible to move. They rocked from side to side as if they had danced together for years and this wasn't their first time. Bonnie always held the belief she could dance anyone under the table, but she didn't mind slowing things down and keeping it simple and that's exactly what Damon Salvatore was delivering.

Hardly any space separated their bodies. They were meshed together, welded as if they were a pair of I beams holding the foundation of a skyscraper upright. Air molecules couldn't even wedge themselves between her back and his front.

Heat began to radiate from their crushed bodies and it made Bonnie's skin pucker. She shivered a little, something that hadn't gone unnoticed by Damon.

"Cold?" he asked.

No, quite the opposite Bonnie wanted to articulate but once again answered his query with a shake of her head. She didn't understand where this shyness was stemming from. Bonnie had her moments of self-consciousness like anyone else, but it had never been to this level before. Damon was a stranger, but an instant connection practically sprang between them and she wanted to get to know as much about him in the limited time they had together.

She knew it would serve in her best interest not to have too many expectations, but anticipation wouldn't be placated at the moment.

For his part, Damon was running a list of baseball stats through his head or otherwise the chubby in his pants would burst through the denim barrier of his black jeans. It took a lot more than dancing to give him an erection, but he amended that because he was dancing with a woman who enamored him almost seamlessly and didn't even know she had that kind of power over him.

Silent stunners were always the most deadly.

Maybe he was weak. Maybe he just needed to get laid. Maybe he was too eager or all of it put together. But he never wanted the night to end.

The song they had been swaying to ended, and Bonnie stilled for a moment wondering if that was it. Did he want to keep going? She needed to rejoin her party—oh shit that's right! She wasn't here alone and her group was probably wondering where she disappeared off to. She needed to go back to them and yet that side of her warred with remaining right where she was.

Sliding her hands over Damon's and prying them off slowly, Bonnie turned to face him. He frowned down at her.

"What's wrong?"

"I have to get back to my friends," Bonnie explained and nibbled her bottom lip pensively.

Damon could see her struggle because it mirrored his own. He didn't want her to leave, didn't want her to part from him, and end this reunion prematurely.

Stepping forward, he dropped a hand to her hip. "Just one more dance," he pouted.

Bonnie chuckled nervously at the petulant look Damon was delivering. Something told her he was used to getting his way. Often. And with little argument or back talk.

"You owe me," Damon went on to say.

"How do I owe you?" Bonnie crossed her arms under her breasts.

"You didn't come to my graduation party if memory serves me right."

A divot formed between Bonnie's arched brows as she searched her memories for that specific one to validate Damon's claim.

"Oh, right," Bonnie's lips pulled down at the corners. "Wait a second…you gave me your tassel? I found it the other day and couldn't remember why I had it."

Damon's brows jumped at the news. She still had his tassel? That couldn't be a coincidence but a choice on her end to keep a little part of him with her. Or perhaps he was making things much deeper than they needed to be at the moment. In any case, she hadn't discarded it and that still spoke volumes to Damon.

He activated his chill and said, "I did and I'm glad you remember. Do you also remember what I said to you after giving it to you?"

An unbeknownst sly grin overtook Bonnie's visage which made her look deliciously wicked to Damon. "You said you were going to get it back."

"And you told me…"

Bonnie stepped forward, stood on her toes again, finding her balance by placing her little hands on his chest to speak into his ear, "I'd like to see you try."

A shudder wanted to ripple through Damon but he somehow found the willpower to repress it.

Surprised by her own behavior, Bonnie jerked away and her cheeks were probably a lovely shade of russet and darkening by the second. "I'm sorry. I should…yeah…" she tried to wonder off but Damon lightly clasped her wrist and pulled her back.

Her shoulder connected with his chest and slowly her eyes climbed up his broad chest, the column of his neck, that sharp jawline, those obscenely pink and kissable lips, and planted their flag right into the infinite vastness of his glacial stare. She blinked up at him owlishly and again they just gazed at one another speaking a language only decipherable by specific cues like pupil dilation, nostril flaring, and the sweep of a tongue to moisten a bottom lip.

Bonnie shook her head to clear it of lustful cobwebs. This wasn't really her. She didn't act like this and with a total stranger to boot. Well, not since that one time in college. But it had been college. Whatever was brewing between her and Damon was lust. And nothing more, right?

The goose bumps refused to budge from her skin and Damon's fingers were singeing her right down to the marrow of her bones. Hopefully someone would be able to find and identify her charred remains if he didn't cease and desist with his smoldering gaze.

_Invite her out to dinner, offer to buy her a drink or a diamond ring, just whatever you do don't let her slip through your fingers again, Salvatore, _Damon's mind gave him a swift kick in the groin and before he knew what he was doing, he slid his fingertips along her bird-like arm, and sank his fingers between hers.

"Just one more dance," he implored again.

Apprehension melted away and Bonnie nodded. She didn't want to run off back to her friends because she knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate anyways. Repeatedly she questioned why she was so drawn to Damon. Men like him hardly ever showed an interest in her, and true she didn't know the kind of man he was, Bonnie pegged him to go for the leggy blonde type and she was far from fulfilling that mold.

Yet he pointed her out, wanted to be in her company. For a reason. _Just go with it_, her mind cheered.

As strange as it might sound, Bonnie felt safe with Damon which should have been absurd considering they had had no contact in _years, _and their encounters in their brief past had been just that. Brief. Yet she was drawn to him. There had to be a supernatural force behind this.

"_Drunk in Love" _began streaming from the speakers.

Damon was familiar with the song because hey who didn't know a Beyonce song? He spun Bonnie around and pulled her forward. They stood chest to chest, thigh to thigh unable to look away from one another.

"Thank you," he said and meant it. He raised their arms in the air, fingers still interlocked.

"Why are you thanking me?"

Damon placed Bonnie's arms around his neck whereas his found their home on her hips again. "You're doing me a tremendous favor."

"Is that so? How?"

The elder Salvatore grinned. There were plenty of ways for him to answer this question, from the polite and thankful to the downright pornographic. He decided a medium would serve in his best interest.

"I spend a lot of time alone and I'm glad that I have the pleasure of a stunningly gorgeous woman to keep the loneliness at bay."

Loneliness had been her biggest companion since Henrik's passing, and she knew it very well. Damon's words could have been taken with a grain of salt, something a man on a prowl would say to any woman he was hoping to see naked later on in the night or sometime in the imminent future. However, and for some inexplicable reason they struck a chord with Bonnie. Resonated someplace that had lain dormant.

Through the years Bonnie taught herself how to gauge sincerity and she heard it plainly in Damon's voice. He wasn't trying to run game on her—well maybe a little bit—but he was also being uncannily open with her. She was curious as to why but too chicken to really call him out on it.

Shyness took root once more and she found herself staring at her feet. "Do you go around using those lines all the time hoping you'll get lucky?"

"That would be the assumption," Damon shrugged. "They're the truth though where you're concerned. I'm glad I ran into you."

Bonnie lifted her head and smiled. "I'm glad I ran into you, too."

"You're not saying that just to be polite?"

"Maybe."

Damon chuckled darkly. He spun Bonnie out again and the two of them began to circle one another often trading roles, one becoming the matador the other the defiant bull.

If Stefan were to see him he would be recording the moment because anyone who knew Damon Salvatore knew he wasn't a dancer.

It was a task to keep his hands in respectable places, and not be all over Bonnie who smelled mouthwatering, and looked scrumptious enough to eat. And what was also disconcerting was how spot on Enzo's description of Bonnie had been. The one thing missing, and he was glad about this, was the haunted look in her eyes. Tonight they reflected the strobe lights and they…sparkled.

Little by little Damon found himself grinning like a fool and didn't have an ounce of shame to stop.

**B||D**

The first time Elijah Mikaelson laid eyes on Bonnie Bennett had been four years ago on Fat Tuesday. He was at his parents' estate at The Hamptons where they typically gathered to celebrate Mardi Gras if they were unable to travel to New Orleans due to prior work-related obligations.

He and his girlfriend at the time, Hayley, had gotten into another heated albeit petty argument over something frivolous Elijah had difficulty remembering what was said verbatim. Their relationship was standing on its final leg, and honestly he wanted things to work, but Hayley was feeling torn between him and a previous flame. Elijah was always one for competition but not when it came to matters of the heart. Either you were with him a hundred percent or you weren't. He didn't suffer fence straddlers kindly.

So in an attempt to salvage what was left of his fledgling relationship with Hayley, Elijah had invited her to spend the holiday with him. Hayley did her best to impress his family, but one or two disparaging comments may have floated from her mouth that especially rubbed his brother Klaus the wrong way. Not to say what Hayley said wasn't unfounded, but the dinner table just wasn't the place for it.

There were many things about Hayley that drew Elijah. Her beautiful looks aside, she was soft-spoken, smart, crafty, and she made him feel centered in a world ruled by politics and protocols erected by his highfalutin father. The idea of marriage did run through his mind a few times, Elijah could confess, but he knew he and Hayley weren't ready for that kind of commitment.

Besides they hadn't been together for a year. And Elijah held the belief that courting someone took time and patience.

After lunch on that fateful day, the couple had retreated to the solarium to have another refresher course on the fact Klaus had the memory of an elephant and hardly let any slight pass unpunished. Elijah desired ardently for Hayley to fit in with his family that sometimes made it a little impossible for outsiders to feel welcome. That was all he tried to tell her, but Hayley took it the wrong way thinking he was trying to control, modify her behavior, and make her into some subservient arm piece.

"Why don't you just admit it, Elijah? Just admit it. Your family hates me, and you and I both know I don't really fit in here."

"You're not giving them a chance. I know my family can be tough…"

"I'd say that's an understatement," a third party entered the room and interrupted the feuding couple's argument.

Elijah and Hayley swiveled their attention to the intruder. Standing by the open door was Henrik, his younger brother. Elijah did his best to offer up a smile but all the muscles in his body were taut with tension.

"Henrik," Elijah greeted partly subdued. "Didn't think you'd make it."

"You know I never miss celebrating Mardi Gras with my family," he looked between his rigid older brother and his lovely female companion sensing the strain between them, "I'm sorry but was I interrupting something?"

From the half smile on his younger brother's face, Elijah knew that Henrik knew good and damn well he had intruded when he shouldn't have.

"No," Hayley spoke up. "We were just finishing. It's good to see you, Henrik."

"Likewise, Hayley. Elijah giving you a hard time again? I'll straighten him out for you," he winked.

Hayley chortled and held up a hand. "No, it's fine. We're good. Just having a typical lovers spat. It's nothing that won't blow over in a couple of days."

Elijah just loved it when people held conversations about him as if he weren't standing in a room. He chose to bite his tongue as he jammed a closed fist in his pant pocket.

"Glad to hear it. Well, there's someone I want you two to meet," Henrik stepped out into the hall and when he reentered the room he did so holding the hand of a woman.

Elijah blinked.

He didn't blink because the complexion of his brother's guest was far darker than the lighter hue of the other female in the room. Kol, Klaus, Rebekah, and himself included often dated outside of their race so that wasn't really a big deal. Elijah didn't blink because he was unaccustomed to seeing Henrik date. In fact, Henrik made himself a reputation where the ladies were concerned. He stood at six-feet, carried a swimmers build with lean muscles that gave off the appearance he wasn't physically strong. Henrik had the face of a fallen angel with eyes as dark as the night sky.

No, Elijah blinked because there was something spellbinding about the woman who was small in stature but had the body of a dancer. Her celadon eyes glinted with vibrancy, as did every fiber of her shoulder length, glossy midnight hair. Her mouth was a little off centered but it was hardly noticeable when she smiled and the one she was presenting to him and Hayley, respectively, made Elijah swallow the lump that suddenly formed in the back of his throat. Simply put, she was stunning.

Henrik turned to the unidentified beauty, his face awash with pride and love and that made Elijah snap out of whatever was beginning to happen to him.

"Elijah…Hayley I'd like you to meet the woman I intend to marry, Bonnie Bennett."

Elijah could recall nothing save the feel of Bonnie's small-boned hand in his when they shook hands after introductions had been made. She may have appeared to be delicate but she had a strong grip, and the smile never once slipped from her face.

Once the pleasantries were over, Elijah quickly made himself scarce. He didn't understand or know how to explain his initial reaction to Bonnie. Being around beautiful women was common place, as he worked with them, and a slew patronized his family's restaurant on a daily basis.

Nevertheless, whatever it was about Bonnie, it made Elijah uncomfortable and he avoided her the best way he knew how, and hammered it into his head that Henrik meant to marry her, and he knew his brother was serious because Henrik had _never _made that kind of declaration before.

Elijah wouldn't haul off and call his brother a playboy Casanova. He dated casually, and only when the mood struck him. Henrik had been obsessed with his work with nanotechnology and advancing intelligence systems. His work at the New York FBI field office kept him busy.

But not so busy he managed to find the time to meet, snatch up, and date Bonnie Bennett.

So Elijah did what he could to keep things between himself and Bonnie formal when they were forced to socialize. However, whenever she delved into a discussion about art which was her profession and passion, he couldn't prevent himself from getting sucked into the world she painted.

Color him surprised when, just five months after meeting Bonnie Bennett for the first time, Elijah stood at the end of the aisle in a tux standing behind his brother acting as his second best man. He was happy for Henrik—undoubtedly, but…

Something nagged at Elijah he couldn't or more accurately didn't want to name. And the feeling only metastasized at the reception when Henrik pulled Elijah aside and made him forge a promise.

"You know the work I do at the FBI is top secret and dangerous and…if anything were to happen to me, I need to know that Bonnie is looked after."

"Henrik, nothing is going to happen to you," Elijah tried to dispel his brother's claim. "This is your wedding day. Focus on that and nothing else."

"Just promise me, Elijah," Henrik's cajoling tone had turned serious. Elijah mutely nodded. "If something _does _happen to me, will you promise to look after Bonnie? Make sure that she wants for nothing and that's she's safe and okay?"

Elijah understood why Henrik came to him with this request but at the same time he didn't want to have this particular honor. Yet he sucked it up bearing in mind he was the elder.

"I give you my word, brother, I'll look after Bonnie if anything should happen, but we both know it won't."

Today, Elijah wondered, and he hated to think this about himself, but he wondered if he may have inadvertently _hoped _something would happen to Henrik. Not that he would die, no he never wanted his brother to die and especially not in the manner in which he died. Yet it made Elijah wonder...

Now that Bonnie had opened up to spending time with him and his family, those lines which had been carved in the sand were becoming blurred at the conclusion of every event. Bonnie let her hair down. Replaced her frowns with breath-stealing smiles, and had played an integral part in helping to launch Klaus' opening. Just as Henrik had always bragged about it being easy to love Bonnie, she had wedged herself firmly into the hearts of his siblings without lifting a finger. They could have been this close from the beginning, but Bonnie kept her guard up and with good reason.

She had confided in Elijah one night she stopped by the restaurant to have dinner she always felt intimidated by his family and their many accomplishments. She had even admitted to being envious of the fact Henrik could trace his family history back to Alaric I of the Visigoths. Bonnie's parents hardly opened up to her about anything and for a time she really thought she might have been a foster child or adopted.

Impulsively, Elijah had offered to help Bonnie research her family history if it was a burning desire of hers. She had smiled at him then, placed her hand over his and said she'd think about it. His skin burned underneath her touch, and he endured the rest of their meal with an erection.

Elijah wanted to shoot himself. At the moment he couldn't differentiate between himself and a schoolboy crushing for the first time.

Tonight had been magnificent, but something heavy pressed inside of him. Something he tried to divert his thoughts from as he stood in a corner of the rooftop bar peering at the New York skyline.

Rebekah joined him a few minutes later. "You look perturbed, Elijah. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing, just thinking about the past. Are we about ready to head out? It's late and I have work in the morning."

"Aren't you about overdue for a vacation?"

Elijah rubbed his tired and slightly bloodshot eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he chartered the family jet and flew across the country to some remote island, laid around, drank until he passed out, or sunk his toes into grainy sand. It had been a hilariously long time since he took any time for himself. If it wasn't business he was tending to, then he was dealing with family drama. A break sounded heavenly, but he didn't want to examine too closely the reason why he didn't want to leave New York.

He knew he had to be shrewd and careful and especially around Rebekah who had a nose for smelling deception, but also feelings someone worked overtime to keep under wraps.

Smiling at his baby sister, Elijah slung an arm over her shoulder. "I'll take one as soon as things start to slow down with the business."

Rebekah looked up at her big brother. "Will you be traveling alone?"

He frowned, "Why wouldn't I travel alone?"

"Because…how long has it been since you've gone on a date or met someone for drinks, brunch, coffee?"

"I don't know and why all this interest in my personal life, Rebekah?"

The interest was, Rebekah wanted to say but wouldn't voice, she noticed Elijah hardly looked at anyone especially when he was in a specific woman's company.

"I don't want you to miss out on anything, Elijah. Finn is practically engaged to his long-time girlfriend, hell even Kol has managed to find someone to settle down with…Klaus…he appears to want to hang on to his bachelorhood for as long as possible, and I know you want a family of your own. But…"

And that but hung over Elijah's head like a sharpened guillotine blade. "I don't need companionship to feel complete. I already do."

Rebekah nodded and not because she believed her brother. "Just don't…cross any lines, Elijah."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she arched an eyebrow.

Elijah slipped a balled fist into his tailored gabardine pants. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Speak plain, Rebekah."

Saying nothing, Rebekah grabbed her brother by the hang and tugged him after her. "Come with me."

Elijah was doubly confused because it wasn't often Rebekah spoke in riddles or didn't speak her mind without a filter. All Mikaelson's were outspoken but Rebekah was usually the loudest in that regard.

Shuffling through the crowd, they came to the staircase that descended to the lower portion of the club. Rebekah pointed at something and Elijah followed the line of her finger until his eyes crashed into what had been of interest to his sister.

Something painfully squeezed his heart and as much as he tried to look away, he just couldn't. His jaw tightened and he told—ordered his muscles to relax but they refused to listen.

Rebekah watched Elijah carefully and saw the rage color his eyes, the tenseness of his shoulders, the rigidity of his spine underneath the fabric of his suit. It was just as she feared. She certainly didn't want to hurt her brother but he had to know nothing could ever come of his infatuation with…

"She is dancing," Elijah bit out through clenched teeth and tried to diminish the growl peppering his words. "It's not the end of the world. I'm happy she's happy."

Rebekah scoffed. "She's not just dancing…she's connecting with someone else."

Elijah turned his back on the scene and breathed evenly through his nostrils. In seconds his cool demeanor returned and he was unflappable once more. However, he did throw a glare in Rebekah's direction. She certainly did know how to drive a point home.

"She is free to do what she wants," Elijah said at length.

"You know she appreciates having you in her life, but she sees you as a brother only."

Elijah wouldn't refute that. It was a truth he couldn't twist or shape into his favor or a lie. "I care for her as a sister and that's all, Rebekah. Now would you be so kind as to alert her we're ready to leave?"

He walked off giving his little sister no chance or choice to object.

**B||D**

Before either of them became aware of it or looked up to check the time, five additional songs had played since their paths crossed on the dance floor. Bonnie was thirsty and her skin had a light sheen of sweat coating it. Her feet were screaming for a rest and she was sure they were going to start smoking soon. Very soon.

"Need a break?" Damon said.

"Yes, please," Bonnie smiled.

"Come on let me buy you a drink."

Clasping hands again, they meandered through the still dancing and socializing patrons and made it to the bar. Luckily there was an empty stool and Bonnie quickly capitalized on it. Damon stood protectively behind her and waved for the bartender.

One sauntered up to them. Bonnie flipped through the menu on the bar top wanting to venture out and try something new.

"What do you usually drink?" Damon's chin grazed Bonnie's temple.

He really needed to stop doing that, Bonnie thought and cleared her throat. "Something girly and fruity. What do you usually drink?"

"Jack, Elijah Craig, Wild Turkey. You know the manly stuff guaranteed to put hair on your chest."

Bonnie laughed. "Not really a fan of whiskey or bourbon."

"How do you feel about champagne? A bottle of Moet?"

The way he said Moet translated in Bonnie's mind to: are you wet?

"No," she cleared her throat. "I've been drinking champagne all night. I should probably take it easy and just get a gin and tonic."

"Oh come on and live a little. You're not driving, right?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I want to wake up with a pounding headache, either."

"Okay so what about a shot of tequila then?"

Bonnie weighed her options and accepted Damon's offer. He placed their order with the bartender and then Damon shifted to where he leaned against the bar.

So many questions began firing in his head, but he wasn't given the chance to ask any of them because two glasses of tequila were sat in front of them.

Damon handed over his plastic, picked up one shot glass and passed it over to Bonnie before picking up the other.

"Should we toast?" Bonnie inquired.

"We should. A toast to…happy reunions that hopefully continue beyond tonight," his eyes darkened to cobalt and Bonnie gulped nervously.

She tapped her glass with his and tossed the shot back. She grimaced, her lips pulled back against her teeth as the Jose Cuervo burned down her esophagus and spread along the walls of her stomach.

Damon was about to follow suit and stopped as soon as the rim of the glass touched his lips. He forgot just that easily that hard liquor had been eliminated from his diet.

Bonnie stared at him inquisitively. "Everything okay? Scared to take that shot to the head?" she teased.

"I…" Damon swore he felt his heart do a back flip in his chest. He had gone so long without a drink that the smell of the tequila was making him slightly nauseous. "I um…forgot that I'm technically on an alcohol hiatus."

"Oh," Bonnie didn't know how not to make this awkward. She was hoping he wasn't a recovering alcoholic.

Damon could almost read those thoughts on her face. "It's not because I have a problem," he quickly ratified.

"It's okay," Bonnie relinquished the shot glass from his custody, held it up, and swallowed it down the hatch. "Smooth," she said hoarsely.

Damon laughed. "Look, I…know its late but I was wondering if you might want to go someplace a little quieter, have a cup of coffee although that might not be such a good idea in your case, and we could just talk. Catch up."

The idea was tempting but Bonnie couldn't just up and leave with a man she barely knew. No matter how tempting, and it was _very _tempting to take Damon up on his offer, but like he said it was late and she needed to make her way home.

"I…" Bonnie started to say.

"Bonnie," Rebekah pushed her way to the bar and barely glanced in Damon's direction. She grabbed Bonnie by the arm. "We're ready to head out. Let's go."

"Oh, um…." Bonnie bit her lip and split her attention between Damon who clearly didn't want the night between them to end, and her impatient looking former sister-in-law. "Okay, I'll meet you guys out front in five minutes."

"The car is waiting. Can you make it two?"

Inwardly, Bonnie growled and wanted to bark at Rebekah not to rush her. She curtly nodded her head. Rebekah pivoted in her Jimmy Choo's and barreled her way back through the crowd.

"Fun's over," Damon pouted.

"Unfortunately. I had a good time and it was _really _good to run into you, Damon. What are the odds of our paths crossing in a city that seven million people call home?"

"What are the odds indeed," Damon intoned as guilt percolated in his stomach. He had known about her whereabouts for months, and though tonight happened to be a coincidence, the times he showed up at her favorite restaurant during her lunch break were not.

Retrieving his phone from his back pocket, Damon opened up his contact list. "Can I have your number?"

"Sure," Bonnie tried not to grin too much as she typed her info into his phone. She even gave him both her personal and work email. Maybe that was a bit overkill, but she wanted to give him all available avenues in contacting her.

"Where's your phone so I can give you my info?" Damon held out his hand waiting for the device to fall into his palm.

"Crap, Rebekah has my stuff. Just tell me your number. I'll remember it. I've always been good with numbers."

"You sure?"

"Yes, dude."

Snorting, Damon rattled off all ten digits, Bonnie recited them back to him perfectly and he had to say that shouldn't have turned him on, but it did.

"Let me walk you to the door," the blue-eyed entrepreneur offered.

He took possession of Bonnie's hand and directed her through the crowd and the rush of cold air slapped the both of them in the face when their neared the door. Bonnie went stiff; Damon did his best to ignore the bite of the gale wind that flew through the thin barrier of his clothes.

They turned to face one another. Bonnie smiled shyly and wanted to kick herself. She had long surpassed having jitters as if she were in high school talking to the captain of the football team because the captain of the football was king.

Saying she had a good time would have been redundant. Would saying she wanted to see him again make her seem too eager? Didn't guys like the chase? Bonnie had been out of the dating loop and with Henrik their courtship had been so natural. No games, no playing as if they didn't like each other and didn't want to be around the other twenty-four seven. Bonnie came across her share of handsome men, but none of them affected her like Damon and he hadn't done anything. It scared her but deep down she wasn't really afraid.

"So…I guess this is good night," she said.

"I guess it is. You'll be hearing from me soon. I don't want to dick around and act like I have no interest in you, Bonnie. I _do_," his tone of voice brokered no argument.

"Okay," Bonnie murmured breathlessly. "Well, good night, Damon."

He picked up her hands and brought each one to his mouth and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles without looking away. "Good night, Bonnie Bennett."

The space between her thighs would start pounding soon if she didn't vacate immediately.

"Bye," Bonnie slipped her hands from his although that was the last thing she actually wanted to do. She headed to the door, turned to face Damon unsurprised his gaze was still locked on her. She waved and stepped out into the frigid New York air and climbed into the waiting town car.

Elijah barked at the driver to go, and Bonnie barely even heard the brusque command since she was too busy staring at Damon who stood in the threshold.

**Barclay Towers**

March 27th, 2014 11:46 p.m.

Damon lain in bed, his sheets draped along his naked waist, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his cell phone. He blinked as he debated whether he should call Bonnie now like his bones were screaming that he do, or wait until a more appropriate time. He didn't want to give her the impression he just wanted to have sex with her. He did but that wasn't exactly his specific target, his goal, or his endgame.

He only wanted to hear her voice. Wanted to hear her laugh. Wanted to make her laugh and erase any further misgivings she might have about him. Meeting someone in a club didn't always translate into something more beyond a one night stand. Damon might be an advocate for acting on one's natural impulse to fornicate and fornicate frequently, but when it came to someone he wanted to be serious about he found himself wanting to go about things in a more traditional route.

No, he wouldn't call her tonight, but he'd text her in the morning and ask Bonnie when a good time to call her would be. Damon meant what he said. In terms of being interested in her and he would make damn sure Bonnie knew it.

**Queens, NY**

March 28th, 2012 12:05 a.m.

Bonnie turned over in bed and her eyes much to her chagrin popped open. Being wide awake was the total opposite of what she needed to be considering she had work, meetings, and packing to do. She was in the process of selling the brownstone and searching for an apartment in Manhattan to move into to cut down on her commute into work. That's what her thoughts should have been on.

Not Damon Salvatore.

Punching her pillow and wiggling around to find a more comfortable spot on the mattress, Bonnie forced her eyes shut only for them to spring open once more.

She reached for her cell just to see if he might have called since the last time she checked her phone only half an hour ago. Bonnie ignored the fact she had checked for missed calls at least five times before deciding she needed to get to bed.

No missed calls, text messages, or emails. Bonnie sighed. "You're being ridiculous. He'll call when he calls."

That's what she told herself but doubt ate away at her. What if he never called? Well she had his number and she could always call him. But Grams had advised her that if a man were interested he would pursue and all you had to do was show interest, but not too much. No chasing after a man.

That had been advice coming from a woman who married her high school sweetheart, and stayed married until her grandfather's death when she was eleven years old.

Should Bonnie heed her Grams' words although some might find her ideals about relationships archaic and covered in dust?

No, it was best to exercise patience.

Seriously, this time when Bonnie's lids lowered she would make sure they stayed that way until her alarm went off at five a.m.

Or when her text message alert beeped, catapulting her to a sitting position as she scrambled for her phone. Plugging in her passcode, heart thumping in her throat, Bonnie opened up her text message and began smiling like she was filming a commercial for dentistry.

Message from Damon: _Hi, r u up? _

Nibbling her lip Bonnie could either ignore it or reply back. Her fingers were already typing a message before her decision had been etched in stone.

Bonnie: _Just getting to bed. _She decided to mess with him. _Who is this?_

Not a second later her message alert chimed.

Damon: _The most dangerous man in Manhattan._

She laughed and shook her head.

Bonnie: _And I gave you my number? I must have bumped my head._

Damon: _Even with a concussion, you made a wise choice._

Bonnie: _So you say. What are you doing? Shouldn't you be asleep?_

Damon: _I would be but I can't get someone off my mind._

Bonnie: _Someone like who?_

Damon: _You._

She was blushing again, cheeks filled with so much blood they threatened to burst.

Bonnie: _Maybe you should try harder._

Damon: _You're not easily forgettable._

Was he trying to seduce her because if he were, Bonnie had to say it was working.

Bonnie: _What about me is unforgettable?_ That's right put his ass on the spot.

Her phone started ringing and she nearly threw it across the room because it scared her. Bonnie's hand started shaking and she admonished herself to get over it, and answer the damn phone.

"Hello?"

"Well, hello," Damon crooned. "Sorry for calling so late. I really tried to resist, but I couldn't help it."

"Its fine," Bonnie placated and though she should have been a bit irritated he would think it was perfectly fine to call during booty call hours, she hadn't been able to sleep since her thoughts were plagued with nothing but him anyways. "I was having trouble falling asleep."

"So was I. Did you have a good day?"

"I did. What about you?"

"It sucked up until now."

Bonnie made some strange noise and covered it up with a fake cough. "So any particular reason why you decided to call me? We were having a pretty good texting conversation."

"Yeah we were but the list of what makes you unforgettable was too long I needed to tell you, and not write it out. Plus, I have a bad case of carpel tunnel."

Bonnie laughed, settled against the mattress. "It's late, Damon and we both have work in the morning. We don't have to do this now."

"You're right we don't but judging from the sound of your voice…you certainly want to. Convince me you don't and I'll call you at a much more appropriate hour."

Challenge issued and if Bonnie were to be honest about it, she didn't want to accept it. She had wanted to hear his voice, and listening to it was a harsh reminder it had been too long since she did this. Talked to a man who stimulated her not just physically.

"You have one hour of my time, Mr. Salvatore and then I've got to get off the phone, get some sleep so I can report to work as only half a zombie."

His deep chuckle made her smile. "Sounds like a compromise I can work with. Now here's what makes you so unforgettable. That smile of yours for starters."

"Mmm, what else?"

"Although I don't know you all that well intuition tells me you have a loving soul."

"Most people do."

"Yeah, you're right. I just don't know many who hold on to that living in New York."

"Touche. Have you lived here since graduating?" Bonnie asked.

"Yep. You?"

"I moved back home to Virginia for a year prior to making the move to the Big Apple. Now back to this list."

Damon gifted her with another chuckle.

One hour turned into two, two into three, and before either of them was aware of it, the sky was turning from tuxedo black to light indigo.

Her throat was hoarse, her ear was numb, but Bonnie couldn't tear herself off the phone. Her eyes had disintegrated into sand and her head throbbed with fatigue, but hanging up seemed to be a task too burdensome for her to tackle alone.

"I should let you get some sleep," Damon said after a considerable pause. "It's almost…"

"Dawn," Bonnie cut him off. "My day at work is going to suck."

"I can make it up to you. Have dinner with me this Friday if you don't already have plans."

"Dinner?" she smiled drowsily. "Sounds like a plan. Call me," she yawned.

"All right, sleepy head. Let me let you go. I really like talking to you, Bonnie."

"I like talking with you, too, Damon."

"Sleep," he commanded.

Her eyes were already closed. "Okay."

"Good morning."

She laughed tiredly. "Morning," she stifled another yawn.

"Hang up."

"You hang up."

"We'll hang up together," Damon bargained.

"Fine. On the count of three. One."

"Two."

"Three."

Neither one of them hung up. And it took an additional ten minutes to officially end their conversation.

When they did, Bonnie rolled over on her back and stared at Henrik's side of the bed. "I'm sorry."

She shouldn't have enjoyed her conversation with Damon as much and certainly not in the bed she shared with her husband. But Henrik was gone. He wasn't coming back and she needed to move on.

Tucking herself into the fetal position, Bonnie finally went to sleep.

**Times Square, NY**

March 31st, 2014 2:20 pm.

The cling and clang of silverware scraping along fine china with the dim murmuring of voices both soothed and irritated Elena. She was making absolutely no headway in stopping her divorce from Damon altogether, had pretty much been stonewalled from slapping him with a countersuit of fraud in that he lied to her and went back on the promises he declared during their wedding ceremony and throughout the course of their relationship. Plus, it was pretty hard to hit him back legally when she didn't have the funds necessary to hire counsel.

Now the gloves had to come off.

Caroline was still helping her out—so to speak. She had dropped her as a client but did a favor for Elena whenever the spirit of generosity slapped her in the head. Elena knew she was at the end of her rope and she was banking the next installment of her plan to make Damon's life hell with this little meeting.

She spotted her lunch companion entering the restaurant looking the picture of nerves, a bad dye job, and way too much makeup. Waving her hand in the air, Elena summoned the girl who crossed the restaurant and quickly sat down in the chair across from her at the squared shaped table.

"Thanks for meeting with me, Dana."

"Thanks for asking me to lunch, Missus Salvatore," the skittish young woman squeaked in kind.

"No need for formalities. Please call me, Elena."

Dana attempted a smile but gave up halfway through and jumped when their waitress appeared to go over the specials and to inquire what they wanted to drink. Once that was taken care of, Elena placed her elbows on the table, and made sure her eight karat ring caught the glare of the beaming sun.

"I guess you're curious as to why I wanted to meet with you," Elena began.

Dana reached for a bread stick, bit off nearly half of it, and chewed with her mouth open. Elena grimaced but otherwise kept her comments about table manners to herself.

"It's not often you get a phone call from your former boss' wife," Dana talked with her mouthful.

Elena's stomach lurched at the sight. "I know things became tough for you when you were released from Salvatore Models Inc. All the designers who gushed over you and vied for you to wear their fashions and strut in their shows basically turned their backs on you because of your…um…recreational habits. Its par for the course but naturally everyone wants to pretend as if that kind of stuff doesn't happen behind the scenes. You were brave, Dana."

"I was stupid," she refuted. "I burned a lot of bridges."

"But there's one you haven't burned," Elena sat back in her seat and studied the girl with an unflinching eye. "But someone else certainly took a match to it."

Dana gulped. She had known Elena in a roundabout kind of way for the last five years. Dana always thought she was the prettiest of Salvatore Models, and it came as no surprise when she and the big man, the CEO himself Damon Salvatore began dating and started a torrid love affair that had plenty of tongues wagging. But Dana kept abreast of what was going on in the modeling world via friends who hadn't cast her completely to the wolves and gave her a hand out from time to time.

Every day she battled her addiction to prescription painkillers, alcohol, shoplifting, and sex. It wasn't easy and she was beginning to get her life back in order. Dana couldn't help but wonder what Elena Gilbert-Salvatore wanted with her considering she was going through a divorce with her former employer. And she didn't get the impression Elena was giving her a job.

"How would you like to make a million dollars?" Elena asked point blank.

Dana nearly choked on the bread. "A million dollars?" she sputtered and already she was visualizing shopping on Park 5th Avenue and Rodeo Drive. "How?"

"We'll get to that in a moment. You would say that you and Mr. Salvatore, my husband had gotten close when he mentored you, right?"

Dana shrugged. She never spent any personal time with Damon Salvatore. He took her out to dinner but that had been in an entourage setting. "I suppose."

"And he was always professional, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Which brings me to my point, Dana. I need you do something for me. A really big favor."

"What?" Dana said a bit wearily. No one forked over that kind of cash without some serious strings attached. Her hospital and rehab bills were piling up and she could certainly use the money.

Elena slid to the edge of her seat. "I need you to testify you had an affair with Damon when you were only…sixteen."

Chapter end.

**A/N: I'm battling a head cold so this feels like something is missing and I might go and make drastic changes later when I'm not congested, but let me know what you think. Elijah's feels are revealed, so to speak, and Elena playing the dirtiest of dirty cards to get her way, and what about Bamon? I wanted to do something a little fluffier with them but it won't always be that way. Thanks for reading! Until next time. Love you!**


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